


A Real Family

by inatrice (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF!John, Character Death, Cute Baby Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Guns, Hand Jobs, Implied Sexual Content, Kid Fic, Kissing, M/M, Major Character "Death", Mycroft's Meddling, Original Character(s), Playing Extra Gay, References to Suicide, Sad Sherlock, Slight Self Destructive Thoughts, Temporary Character Death, disguises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-26
Updated: 2012-08-26
Packaged: 2017-11-12 22:51:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/496531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/inatrice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A baby girl is left on the stairs of 221b with a note claiming she is John's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who was trying to read this before, I AM SO SO SORRY. I accidentally deleted it and you have to know that I am just beyond sorry. I hope you can find it in your kind fic loving hearts to forgive me. I'll post everything ASAP!!

_Rain pounded down on Baker Street. A woman left a labeled bundle on the doorstep of the flat addressed as 221b. She rang the doorbell and then turned, tear-stained face looking relieved. She hurried off in to the shadows as she heard an older woman call out to someone. The bundle would be safe and now she could finally be at peace._

XXX

John was suppressing a giggle as he unlocked the front door to the flat. He and Sherlock were still on an end-of-case high. Running through the streets of London at midnight in the pouring rain, gun cocked and aimed –

"Oh! Boys, I – John, there's something, oh goodness." Mrs Hudson was up in arms. John's protective nature kicked in and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

"All right now calm down." He said softly. "What is it?"

"You've been left a present." Sherlock said flatly. He looked ominously towards Mrs Hudson's flat.

Mrs Hudson started walking forward, muttering to herself. John followed, nervousness pooling in his gut. He could feel Sherlock's presence behind him, the second man obviously curious. Mrs Hudson fluttered her hands around a … car seat that usually held infants. John froze, Sherlock stopping next to him.

"John, she came with a note addressed to you, I just – it was raining and I didn't know…" She crossed her arms in exasperation. "I couldn't just leave her out there."

John stood, shocked, in the doorway while Sherlock swept forward, eyes flashing. He picked up a note, read it, flipped it over once, twice, three times, and then threw it in John's direction. John kicked forward to catch the letter. It was just a small bit of paper, the words were written quickly.

**John –**

**She's beautiful, but she's too much like you. Her name is Lana. Take care of her. Please.**

John stared at the note in disbelief. A baby. A baby? When was the last time he'd even had sex? Oh God … about ten months ago. Shit.

Sherlock had the baby out of the car seat, holding the tiny human away from him like it was contaminated. He'd obviously never held a baby before. He wasn't even supporting her head!

John rushed forward and took the little girl away from the detective as gently as possible. Mrs Hudson clucked and tutted and awkwardly walked circles around them. John looked down at the tiny bundle in his arms. She had a small tuft of dark hair and big blue eyes. She jerked a little but then looked up at John and immediately relaxed, something like wonder crossing her face.

John felt a huge goofy grin break across his face. She was so beautiful. "Lana," He whispered to the baby girl. "What a pretty name." He traced her cheek with his index finger and then put it next to her little hand. He watched in amazement as five tiny digits curled around his.

"John, she can't stay." Sherlock said curtly.

John's head snapped up. "What."

"We can't take care of a child." Sherlock's how-big-of-an-idiot-are-you face brought out the sneer in the detective's voice. "How would we feed her or clothe her? Where would she sleep? What would she do while we were out solving cases?" Sherlock waved his hands next to John's head. "Think it through a little!"

John felt his arms tighten around the little girl, his daughter. "Where will she go?"

"John stop being so thick. We'd put her up for adoption. Leave the mess to someone else." Sherlock straightened and began to walk out of Mrs Hudson's flat.

Something inside John was screaming. He was instantly protective and possessive of the infant in his arms. "No." He said.

Sherlock turned slowly, his expression mocking confusion. "What?"

"I said no, Sherlock." John raised his chin a little, feeling rebellious; the warmth in his arms giving him strength.

"John, you don't even know if she is really your daughter." Sherlock retorted, glacial eyes narrowing.

"I'll take her to Bart's tomorrow and get a paternity test." John shot back. "We probably won't have another case for a while anyway. You've just finished one." John looked back down at the baby. She was nearly asleep. His heart melted. "I – Sherlock, she's just a baby."

Sherlock's shoulders drooped, his head turning in what could be called disgust. "Fine. Keep it until you know for sure if it's yours." He headed back out of the flat and towards their own.

John ignored the obvious dehumanizing of the child in his arms looked at Mrs Hudson nearly helplessly. She took the little girl from his arms and immediately the infant started fussing. John felt his heart tug and he took her back. "Lana," He cooed. "Lana, baby, shush now. I'm here." The baby quieted once she saw John's face again and he couldn't help the ridiculous smile that crawled a cross his face.

Mrs Hudson put her hand on his shoulder and looked at the girl in his arms warmly. "Do you want me to go buy some formula and some diapers?" She asked quietly.

"Mrs Hudson, you are a saint." He looked at her in near disbelief. He gave her cheek a quick peck. "That would be beyond helpful. She's probably just about a month old."

"Got it." The land lady said, throwing on a coat. "Be back in a tick."

"Thank you!" He called after her. John looked back at the baby in his arms. She was asleep now. He rocked her gently, unable to help himself. "Lana," He whispered again.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who was trying to read this before, I AM SO SO SORRY. I accidentally deleted it and you have to know that I am just beyond sorry. I hope you can find it in your kind fic loving hearts to forgive me. Posting everything ASAP, will go over with a fine toothed comb soon!

"Sherlock, it's just twenty minutes." John pleaded.

Sherlock didn't meet John's gaze. He kept his head tilted up toward the ceiling. "Your baby, your problem." He sniffed.

John sank down into his chair and put his head in his hands. It had been a week and a half since Lana showed up and John had hardly put her down. The paternity test results were due to arrive any day. The shopping hadn't been done, nor hardly any cleaning. John had been more than thankful for Mrs Hudson and her sentimentally kept baby clothes and toys. Unfortunately, Mrs Hudson was away for a long weekend at the moment as well.

"You know I wouldn't ask you unless I was desperate." John reasoned. Sherlock huffed again. "Sherlock, we need to eat. There is absolutely nothing in the house. Christ," He stood up and dropped down onto his knees in front of Sherlock's perch on the couch. "We are almost out of toilet paper and even you need that."

Sherlock turned his gaz e to John, glaring. Lana made a gurgling noise from where the car seat was on the coffee table. Sherlock's lip curled. "I never asked for a baby. I don't want to babysit. She's so," He flapped his hands around, searching for a word. Lana popped a spit bubble. "Soggy."

John chuckled. "Babies tend to be soggy, Sherlock."

"I didn't ask for a baby." Sherlock repeated quietly, his gaze returning to the ceiling.

"Well, neither did I, Sherlock, but somewhere I made a huge mistake, not that I'm complaining," John said quickly, looking at Lana as if she would hate him for his words. "And now there's a baby. I'm not asking for much." John's tone turned pleading once again as he looked back at Sherlock. "Just make sure she doesn't die. I'll only be twenty minutes."

"It will take you more than twenty minutes John. It takes twelve minutes just to get to Tesco, then you're going to have to make all these new decisions because she is here taking up all of your brain space." Sherlock's eyes flashed.

John felt a pang of guilt. It really was a lot to bring a baby into a household, especially in such an unexpected way. John had once had a dream about having children, but he was sure Sherlock had never intended on breeding. "You know I'd be looking for a different flat if I wasn't reliant on you and the money we get from the cases." John said quietly.

Sherlock shifted. He leaned forward and put his hands on John's shoulders. "You are not leaving."

John couldn't meet Sherlock's gaze. "It'd be best for you. I'm imposing and Lana …"

"I've told you. We will put her up for adoption." Sherlock said, as if this were the most obvious answer.

"I can't do that Sherlock. I have to take care of her." John locked eyes with the detective. He would not be swayed on this issue.

Sherlock sighed dramatically and pushed John gently away. "You have twenty minutes. Get going."

John leaped to his feet, smile on his face. He grabbed Sherlock's face and planted a kiss on each cheek. Sherlock froze, stunned expression on his face. "I'll be back as soon as I can!" John told him jubilantly.

It wasn't until he heard the slam of the front door that Sherlock let his hands travel up to his face to touch where John had kissed him. His cheeks burned where John's lips had touched his skin. What an odd sensation. And since when did John react like that to do the shopping? Sherlock shook his head and glanced at the baby jerking about in her car seat.

"That was your fault." Sherlock told her hotly. "You are turning his brain to mush." Lana made a cooing sound, her bright blue eyes fixed on Sherlock. He met that gaze with narrowed eyes. "I see what you are doing to him. He's fawning all over you, talking to you in that nonsense way, ah-boo-boo-boo." He rolled his eyes. "All he does is say how wonderful and brilliant and fantastic you are." Sherlock could feel a hot sensation travel up his spi ne as a sneer crossed his face. He looked back at the baby and felt his shoulders drop. "Dear God, I'm jealous of a baby." He let his head drop into his hands. "Forget what you are doing to John, what are you doing to me?" He groaned.

Lana made a gasping noise as she kicked her feet and waved her arms. Sherlock's brows knitted together. What would he do if she stopped breathing? What would he do if she kicked herself out of that seat? What would John do to him if she were to hurt herself? Sherlock felt his heart speed up. No good to dwell on thoughts like that. He looked at the baby carefully. She looked so fragile and so out of control of her own body. Her cheeks were chubby and she drooled an appalling amount. She had barely any hair but – "Where did you get such dark hair?" He asked her. "John is practically blond."

Sherlock racked his brain trying to remember the girlfriends John had had recently. Well, recently. John hadn't had a date in ten months and fou rteen days. The last three girlfriends had all looked similar; tall, dark hair, blue eyes. The last one, Lydia, she'd been a dark brunette with striking blue eyes, thin girl. She'd had a long dark coat as well – _Oh hell._

Sherlock looked toward the mirror above the fire place, examining his face closely. They'd all had features similar to him. And then after that exceedingly exciting case in Grimpen John had broken it off with Lydia and hadn't had a date since.

Was John attracted to him? John wasn't gay though. Sherlock always did his best to hide his attraction to John because of this reason, but the evidence –

Lana huffed at him, body going rigid, eyes wild.

"What?" Sherlock leaned towards her, scanning the baby for any faults; no contusions, no trauma, breathing was elevated but seemed normal. Lana relaxed and hummed happily at him, legs kicking again. Sherlock's lip curled. "Don't do that." he ordered her. "John will have my hide if anyt hing happens to you." Lana burbled in response. Sherlock tilted his head. "I don't understand what he sees in you anyway." Sherlock poked a finger into her belly. She was squishy and warm, the fabric of her lavender onesie soft under his index finger. Lana cooed. Sherlock's lip quirked up and he poked her gently again. She hummed and kicked gleefully. A smile broke out over Sherlock's face and he tickled her.

Someone walked up the stairs and in to the flat. "John, I …" Sherlock looked up and let his face fall blank. "Mycroft."

"What do we have here?" Mycroft asked conspiratorially.

"A baby. She is John's, but you already knew that." Sherlock sneered leaning back in the couch.

"You've never struck me as the fatherly type, brother." Mycroft sat lightly in John's chair, tilting his head mocking interest.

"I did not ask for a baby."

"Nor should you be expected to keep it." Mycroft said quickly, fiddling with his omnipresent umbrella. "I can see to it that she finds a good home. I have a few connections in child services." Something twisted in Sherlock's belly. The thought of leaving such a helpless thing in Mycroft's care, even if it was secondarily, was detestable. Mycroft stood and stepped close, looking down into the car seat with feigned interest. Sherlock was surprised to find that he wanted to snatch the child away, protect it. Lana looked at Mycroft, eyes wide.

"I never said I wanted her to leave," Sherlock said haughtily, glaring at his brother.

Mycroft's eyebrows knitted together and his mouth turned down in an unapproving manor. He looked back to Sherlock. "Sherlock, you can barely handle keeping yourself alive. I will not leave an innocent child in the care of someone with your track record."

"John takes care of her. Besides, John won't let her go." Sherlock threw back, face blank. He wouldn't let Mycroft see the blinding fury that was rising up in him. Why did this bastard always h ave to bring up the past?

"Ah, yes." Mycroft reached into his jacket and produced an envelope. It had been opened and resealed, but John wouldn't notice when he tore it open for the results. "He is the father. We've been trying to locate the mother…"

"Lydia, yes." Sherlock grabbed the envelope from his brother. "John will sort it out, he's still got her number in his phone." Sherlock stood and motioned for the door. "I think you've stayed long enough. Out."

Mycroft turned toward the door. "It was good to see you Sherlock." He said as he walked out. "I shall return soon with child services."

"Don't bother," Sherlock called after him. "John has everything under control." Lana kicked and huffed at Sherlock, rocking the car seat.

Mycroft looked back. "I doubt, with the aid of an anonymous tip, that child services would find this flat suitable for an infant." His stupid arrogant head tilted back toward the kitchen and Sherlock's multitude of experi ments.

Sherlock felt his breath catch, unexplained fear spiking in his chest. He hoped Mycroft hadn't seen. His face remained impassive. "Then don't call them in, brother _dear_." He couldn't help the lip curl that accompanied the last word.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows and walked out of the flat and down the stairs.

Sherlock let out a sigh. He looked down at Lana, nervousness allowed on his face. The baby girl reached her arms out to him and he felt something crack inside of him. He put a hand down on her belly and the baby relaxed. "Good, you're quiet now." Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Don't think that because I defended you from Mycroft that we are on good terms now." Lana swallowed and swiveled her tongue around in her mouth, attempting to control the muscle. Sherlock felt his lips quirk involuntarily. He gazed down at her softly. Were he holding her, she would practically fit in just his hands. She was fascinating, he had to admit. So small, yet fu lly functional, even if she was lacking basic control of most of her muscles. Sherlock sat down on the couch and watched her, running his thumb over her belly until she fell asleep.

Sherlock watched the baby sleep until he heard John come back into the flat. Sherlock immediately lay back on the couch, palms together, index fingers to his lips, eyes to the ceiling. He didn't want to give John the satisfaction of seeing him look fondly down at the baby.

"How was she?" John asked, heading straight in to the kitchen.

"Dull." Sherlock answered. He wasn't going to mention Mycroft's visit. "Envelope for you on the table here."

John walked over to him. Sherlock closed his eyes. "What's this then?" John asked under his breath. Sherlock could hear it catch. "Oh." The envelope was opened quickly and carelessly. Silence as John read the papers and then a quick intake of breath. "Sherlock. Oh my God."

Sherlock popped an eye open and repressed a smile. John w as beaming down at the papers. He knelt by the car seat. He rested a hand lightly on Lana's head and dragged his thumb over her forehead. "Lana. My girl. My sweet baby girl." He cooed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, and forced down the annoying happy jolt his stomach seemed to have whenever he saw John smile with such abandonment as this. "You should really try to contact the mother."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who was trying to read this before, I AM SO SO SORRY. I accidentally deleted it and you have to know that I am just beyond sorry. I hope you can find it in your kind fic loving hearts to forgive me. Posting everything ASAP, will go over with a fine toothed comb soon!

"Have you contacted the mother yet?" Sherlock asked from his place at the kitchen table. He was looking through his microscope.

"I've been trying, Sherlock." John replied, not taking his eyes off of Lana. He'd been calling and texting for nearly two weeks. He and Lydia had dated for nearly six months and he mentally kicked himself for not getting her parent's number or at the very least an email. After the case with the hound he had decided to end the relationship. Sherlock's work was taking up too much of his life and he didn't think it had been fair to Lydia.

But right now none of that mattered. He was bathing Lana in the sink and the smile could not be wiped off his face. Lana was starting to sit up by herself. "I don't know where Lydia is or what happened to her." Lana looked up at the sound of her father's voice and smiled at him. John closed his eyes for a moment and resisted the urge to curl up in a ball, all other thoughts immediately fleeing his brain. He smiled widely at her again. "Who's daddy's beautiful girl?" He asked theatrically. Lana screeched in delight and splashed in the water. "Yes! You are!" John giggled and leaned down to kiss her forehead.

"Oh for God's sake, John." Sherlock scoffed.

Lana hummed and huffed as her head turned toward the sound of Sherlock's voice, eyes bright. "That's my girl. You tell that silly man how ridiculous he is." John nodded his approval.

Sherlock sighed dramatically and stood to leave the kitchen. "I am not the ridiculous one, John. You are the one pretending to have a conversation with her."

John rolled his eyes as he began to dry Lana off with a towel. "It's important to her development." He lifted the baby out of the sink, wrapped her up and followed Sherlock into the living room. "What's ridiculous is the fact that you can resist this cute little face!" He held Lana out toward the detective. She shrieked gleefully and reached her arms out to him.

Sherlock's face twitched and he turned on his heel and grabbed his violin. John smiled and held Lana close again. Sherlock would crack one of these days, he was sure of it. He went upstairs and changed Lana. He brought her back downstairs and set her on the blanket that was spread between the arm chairs. Lana immediately grabbed for a stuffed pink kitten, burbling happily. John was thankful that she was a happy baby. She didn't really fuss unless she was hungry or needed a diaper change. He was beyond thankful that she slept so well, only waking once or twice in a night. She was getting better. John sank down in his chair and leaned his head against the back. He closed his eyes and let the sounds of Sherlock's violin wash over him.

Sherlock turned and watched Lana chew on her stuffed kitten, her eyes were fixed on him however. He always felt a small well of pride when the child watched him in rapt fascination as he played his violin. He took a few ste ps closer to her and sat down on the floor, changing his tune to a nursery rhyme that his favourite nanny used to sing to him. He flicked his eyes to John as the other man sighed gently. John was exhausted, had been since Lana had arrived. That was to be expected with a baby though. He hadn't shaved this morning. Sherlock's mouth twitched. He preferred John clean shaven. John stirred a little more and cracked an eye open, ghost of a smile playing his lips. He began singing along lightly with Sherlock's playing. Sherlock felt his breath catch and a smile creeped onto his face.

Sherlock played and John sang until John nodded off. Sherlock stopped playing and watched John for a while until Lana started making frustrated noises. She was trying so hard to keep her head up, but her muscles weren't strong enough to keep her head lifted for long periods of time yet. Sherlock put his violin away and lay on his stomach, head level with Lana's, but his body sprawled toward the co uch. Lana seemed to calm and rested her head back on the blanket. Sherlock examined her face carefully; it seemed to change every day. Her cheeks were chubby, chin perpetually covered in drool. Her eyes were doe-eyed like John, but a brighter shade of blue. Lana's hand came up and smacked Sherlock on the nose.

"Hey!" He threw his head away from her reach. Lana cooed happily and smiled at him. Sherlock narrowed his eyes, but felt a smile appear on his face that he couldn't help. "You are a demon child." He told her darkly. "Turning John's brain to gelatin and now look, you've resorted to violence." Lana made 'ooh' sounds as she kicked her feet. "You're right. You must get it from John. He has punched me in the face before." Lana's face lit up in a giant grin as she shrieked happily and grabbed for Sherlock's nose again. "Shush, you'll wake John." He whispered to her. "Your daddy needs to be in a good mood if we're all to survive." Lana giggled as she squeezed Sherlock's nose. Sherlock laughed gently and he rested a hand lightly on her head. He couldn't believe how soft she was. "I suppose John is right," He told her. Her eyes moved to Sherlock's lips and her hand followed. Her tiny fingers pressed pleasantly against Sherlock's skin. "You are rather amazing. But don't tell your daddy I said that." He kissed her fingers gently, an unfamiliar warm thrill shooting through him. They chatted until she fell asleep as well.

XXX

Sherlock was called into the morgue the next morning to help examine a body for a case. Mrs Hudson insisted on watching Lana so that John could go along. John almost felt guilty about being relieved to get out of the flat and not have to worry every second that Lana was okay. Mostly, he was glad to see Sherlock wired to be on another case. They reached the morgue and met Lestrade.

"Christ John, you look like hell!" Lestrade commented. He hid his concern well.

John racked his brain for an excuse.

"The baby's kept him up recently." Sherlock said offhandedly, brain totally focused on the case at hand.

Lestrade's jaw dropped. "Baby?" He exclaimed, incredulous. 

John's shoulders drooped and his head lolled back, angry that he hadn't told Sherlock that this was a matter he didn't want to discuss with the Yard. "It's not what…"

"Yes, John got a woman pregnant and she left the result on our door step." Sherlock told the DI. He walked passed a body that was so obviously a suicide on one slab on his way to the one he was meant to examine. "Been looking everywhere for the mother. Even Mycroft has been unable find her." Something caught his eye about the suicide victim. He froze.

"Jesus, John. Really?" Lestrade asked. He put his hands on his hips and a small smile crossed his face.

John sighed heavily and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. Today's events seemed to leave the DI and the doctor nearly speechless. "Mycroft? Sherlock why is Mycroft…"

"Where's Molly?" Sherlock interrupted, question directed at Lestrade. His voice was tight, as was the expression on his face. He didn't seem to be focused on the case anymore.

"She's getting a family to claim this body that we pulled out of the Thames." Lestrade answered, motioning to the woman Sherlock had just passed.

Sherlock took in a big breath. "Sorry, Lestrade, something's come up. Terribly busy. Can't help anymore today." He grabbed John by the shoulders and spun him so he was facing the door. He pushed him toward the exit.

"Sherlock, wait what?" Lestrade stuttered, obviously confused and taking a few steps to follow.

Then Molly was at the door, leading in an older couple. Sherlock gripped John's shoulders so he couldn't move. The woman looked at John as if she recognized him from somewhere.

"Time to go!" Sherlock said quickly.

"Yes, this is my daughter." The older man said. The woman began to wail. "No! No, my poor Lydia!"

Sherlock felt John tense. "What?" he muttered under his breath. Sherlock slammed his eyes closed. John turned back into the room and took a step closer to the couple that hovered around the body. "Oh my God." John said weakly, head shaking with disbelief. He looked down at the woman on the slab. Tall, thin, pale, dark brunette. It was Lana's mother. "Lydia, no."

The older woman looked up at him, tears on her cheeks. "YOU!" She screeched. "I knew I recognized you! John Watson isn't it?" She started pulling a piece of paper out of her coat pocket. "This is _your_ fault. _You_ did this to her!" She threw the sheet of paper at him. He caught it unconsciously. "You monster!" The woman's husband had to restrain her. "How could you? She loved you!"

John was frozen to the spot. His brain was not functioning. He could not wrap his mind around what was happening in this moment. Lestrade stepped in between the woman and John. He was saying some thing but all John could hear were muffled voices. He felt Sherlock grab his hand and pull him out of the morgue. His eyes caught Molly with her hands over her mouth, expression torn between apologetic and grieved. John didn't look at the paper until they were in the cab back to Baker Street.

**I couldn't do it anymore. I just needed him in my life. I thought I could catch him by getting pregnant, but Lana just made the separation worse. I can't live without him. I can't live with her in my life and not him as well. Don't worry, the baby will be taken care of. You won't have to worry about me making anymore stupid mistakes like this. I love you guys. I'm sorry.**

**Lydia.**

John was numb. He couldn't believe what he just read. He stared ahead in the cab. He felt Sherlock take the letter out of his. It was his fault, his fault that Lydia had made this kind of decision, his fault that Lana didn't have a mother. His fault, his fault.

He felt Sherlock's hand close around his. He looked down in utter surprise and then up to the detective. Sherlock's face was sympathetic. "It is not your fault, John." Sherlock told him gently as if he could read John's mind.

John scoffed sadly and looked out the window, yanking his hand out of Sherlock's grip. When the cab stopped in front of their flat, John launched himself out of the cab and headed straight inside, slamming the front door open. Mrs Hudson came out of her flat and followed him upstairs, calling confusedly after him. Lana was fussing.

"John, I don't know what it is. She's been fussing and she's not hungry or tired and I changed her diaper." She was saying.

John whirled on her. He wasn't sure what expression his face held, but it shut Mrs Hudson up instantaneously. Lana started crying. Sherlock stalked up the stairs as John started throwing books about the flat. Lana screamed, tears running down her face. Sherlock put a hand on Lana's back and the baby reached toward him. Mrs Hudson let her go, jumping as a book thumped against the wall, too close to a window for comfort.

"Mrs Hudson, it might be best if you went back to your own flat now." Sherlock told her gently, holding Lana close to him.

"All I did was tell him I didn't know why the baby was fussing!" the land lady exclaimed miserably.

"I know, but John's having a rough day." Sherlock replied, forcing a smile. He nudged her toward the door and Lana cried louder against his shoulder. Once Mrs Hudson was out of the flat, Sherlock turned to his flat mate. "John." He said sternly.

"WHAT SHERLOCK?" John screamed at him, eyes flashing dangerously. Lana shrieked in fea r and John's expression softened. "Oh, oh no. My baby girl." John walked over, arms out stretched.

Sherlock turned the shoulder Lana was pressed into away from John. "Have you calmed down enough?" He asked hotly.

John stopped inches away from Sherlock. His jaw muscles seemed to be working overtime. Sherlock felt his own expression soften and he held an arm out.

John's face broke and he let himself lean into Sherlock's shoulder as a sob ripped out of his chest. Sherlock ran his hand through John's hair in what he hoped was a soothing manner. Lana had calmed some and she turned toward her father. She put a hand on John's cheek, hiccupping from her own cries. John turned his face toward his daughter, a hysterical giggle bubbling out of him. He put an arm around Sherlock's torso to anchor himself and took Lana in the other one. Sherlock wrapped his arms around the both of them. Lana, finished with her own tears, cooed at her father. "There's a good girl, Lana. Tell your daddy what a good man he is." Sherlock said softly. He knew he was treading on thin ice. He'd never shown his affection for John like this before. He knew John was fragile now, but he didn't know quite how to react to this kind of situation. Normally he wouldn't do anything, but he couldn't let that happen with John. John meant too much to him. Sherlock sighed as John's shoulders continued to shake. He was at a loss so he acted on impulse, kissing the top of John's head and then resting his cheek there. He felt John hug him closer and he reciprocated. Lana leaned into Sherlock's chest while her forehead rested on John's cheek.

Though he supposed it wasn't quite the best situation for these feelings, Sherlock couldn't help but feel a little overcome by a burning warmth in his chest; so happy to be surrounded by these two humans. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt so whole.

XXX

A few hours later, after Sherlock had made tea and ordered a takeaway, he found John upstairs, laying with Lana in their bed. Sherlock knocked quietly and John motioned for him to come in. Sherlock walked over to the side of the bed that John wasn't lying on and stood awkwardly, looking down at the sleeping baby.

"Go ahead." John said, sounding so defeated. Sherlock felt something tug in his heart as he lay down in the bed as well. They both watched Lana sleep for a long time. "I feel stupid, you know." John said quietly, resting a hand on Lana's belly. Sherlock looked up at him, eyebrows knitting together. "I was careless with the sex because she told me she was on the pill. Which she was, I had seen the packaging at her flat." John sighed. "Guess she stopped taking it when I started pulling away from her."

Sherlock placed his hand gently over John's hand. "You can't blame yourself. Her actions were completely irrational. Your actions were soundly justified."

John's eyes were trained on where their hands met. "You kissed me earlier." John whispered after a few moments.

Sherlock's heart doubled its speed. "So? You kissed me the other week." He was trying very hard to keep his voice even. He knew it had been a bad idea, damn it.

John looked up at him. "Why did you?"

Sherlock opened his mouth but words, for once, were failing him. How was he to tell John anything? It had been an impulse. People got kissed when they were in a raw state right? It was something his nannies had done for him when he was young, and well, he had been wanting to see what kissing John was like.

John felt a thrill of nervousness. He'd only seen Sherlock like this around The Woman. Words seemed to tumble out of his mouth. "Would you kiss me again?"

Sherlock gaped at John but only for a moment before his brain kicked in again. "Only if you would let me."

Leaning carefully over the baby, John pressed his lips to Sherlock's. He wasn't quite sure what his body was doing. It seemed to be seeking out comfort in the closest outlet possible. He felt Sherlock relax into the kiss and that's when his brain revved. He pulled away quickly. "Oh, God. Sherlock, I'm sorry." His cheeks flushed.

Blinking back surprise, Sherlock muttered his own apologies as he got up to try and process this new information. But John's hand tightened around his wrist. He looked back, confused.

"You don't have to leave," John looked away sheepishly. "I - I actually wouldn't mind the company."

Sherlock's heart was nearly beating out of his chest. "All right." Sherlock relaxed back into the bed. John sighed, closing his eyes and putting his face into his pillow. "You should really sleep, John." Sherlock said quietly. "It's been a long day." John nodded. "I'll take care of Lana if she wakes up." He promised.

John smiled weakly. "Thank you."

Sherlock watched John as the other man fell asleep. Finally he pulled his hand away and touched his long fingers to his burning lips. His brain was racing a thousand miles a minute trying to see where they would move from here.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who was trying to read this before, I AM SO SO SORRY. I accidentally deleted it and you have to know that I am just beyond sorry. I hope you can find it in your kind fic loving hearts to forgive me. Posting everything ASAP, will go over with a fine toothed comb soon!

Sherlock woke with a start, breath coming fast. He couldn't shake the strange apprehension his dream had caused, but he couldn't recall what the dream had been. He looked over to John who was still blissfully asleep. Something shifted between them. Lana was waking and beginning to fuss. Sherlock froze. How was he supposed to figure out what she needed? Sherlock slid off of the bed as gently as possible, Lana growing louder as he did so.

"Shush, Lana darling." Sherlock whispered. He picked her up, remembering to support her head and took her out of the bedroom. Lana made little whimpering sounds. Based on previous data, this usually indicated that she was hungry. Sherlock walked into the kitchen, turning on lamps instead of the overhead lights. He placed Lana in her car seat before taking it into the kitchen. He paused looking at his experiments on the table, feeling his heart sink in an odd way. Mycroft had been right; this was not suitable for a c hild. He made a note to gather as much information as he could within the next few days so he could get the dangerous ones out of the flat. He pulled a chair out from the table and put Lana's car seat there and then grabbed for the formula.

Lana continued to fuss as he read the instructions. He glanced over at her sternly, but quickly realized she wouldn't understand the look meant "shut up". Sherlock sighed and made a bottle quickly. He pulled out the other chair and sat in front of Lana, giving her the bottle. She drank eagerly, staring at Sherlock with her big blue eyes. After a few moments she reached a hand out toward him and he let her wrap her hand around his index finger.

He stared in wonder at the tiny human that had so quickly wormed her way behind the walls he had built and had comfortably made a home in his heart. It had taken John about a year to do that, and he wasn't even aware that he had. Lana had accomplished this in just under a month and seeme d to take pride in the fact that she had toppled him so easily. He had to hand it to her, it was impressive feat.

After Lana finished her bottle, Sherlock took her into the living room. He lay on the couch and put the baby on his stomach. He read her a baby book that Mrs Hudson had bought, one with all kinds of textures and bright pictures. It wasn't before long that she fell asleep again and Sherlock watched her for a long time.

XXX

John woke up to light filtering in from his window. He glanced at his clock, yawning. He sat up with a start. "Nine o'clock?" He whispered to the room. He looked at the empty bed. _Where is Lana?_ He leapt off of the bed, fear flooding him. "Sherlock?" He called urgently. He flew down the stairs but froze when he encountered the scene in the living room. Sherlock and Lana were asleep on the couch, the baby sprawled across Sherlock's torso. John sighed in relief. He looked at the scene in front of him, disbelieving. There h ad been a constant nagging fear that Sherlock and Lana would never get on, but this was calming him some.

John smiled softly to himself and went into the kitchen to make tea. His eye caught a wad of paper, Lydia's note, on the floor and he sighed heavily. It was probably best that Sherlock was starting to take to Lana. John probably wouldn't be fit to take care of her for the next few days, or at least until he wrapped his head around the past fourteen hours. A deep guilt washed over him as he watched the tea steep. He shook his head, knowing this was something he was going to carry with him forever. He was already dreading the day Lana asked after her mother.

And then there was the whole kissing business last night. Was Sherlock interested in a relationship with him? Was he interested in a relationship with Sherlock? He let the idea stew in his brain as he poured himself a cuppa. He had never been interested in men before, but God help him, there was something a bout Sherlock Holmes that … well, he didn't quite know how to explain it. It just felt right, though he didn't really know what 'it' was. If Sherlock was interested though, would he be willing to try or would that put their friendship in danger?

John walked into the living room and sat in his chair. He watched his housemates sleep. Sherlock looked so young when he slept. He looked innocent and free, like the world hadn't shut him down yet, like he didn't need to constantly prove he was the best. John liked the way Sherlock looked as he slept. And Lana. His beautiful Lana. He was astounded at how much he loved her, how quickly she had become his entire world. He felt he could relax more, now that he had a sneaking suspicion that Sherlock wouldn't be pushing the adoption issue anymore. John leaned his head back and relaxed into the bittersweet moment.

Sherlock stirred, taking in a big breath. He looked down at Lana and smiled.

"Morning," John said quietly. Sherlock's head whipped toward him, surprise and dread momentarily covering his face. John took a sip of his tea. "Kettle's just boiled."

"John, I …" Sherlock stuttered, hands flapping awkwardly around the baby. John chuckled lightly. Sherlock never stuttered. "She woke up in the middle of the night. I had to do something. I didn't want her to wake you."

"Oh, come off it." John said shaking his head, throwing Sherlock a knowing look. "You like the baby."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Fine, okay." He said tersely. He sighed in defeat. "She's …" Sherlock ran his fingers lightly over Lana's tuft of hair, voice softening. "She's wonderful, John"

"Yeah, she is." John agreed softly. After a moment, John walked over to the couch and sat in front of it. "About last night."

Sherlock took in a quick breath. "Not to worry, John. Your reaction to such traumatic news was typical. But I - I would like you to know that I will do my best to help you through it ." Sherlock wouldn't meet his gaze, pink flushing his cheeks.

John shook his head, a little taken aback at the comment. "I really do appreciate that Sherlock." John said, and he did. He'd never encountered Sherlock invested in any kind of emotional situation and react positively. Perhaps he was letting his human side have some control for once. It seemed Lana had a bigger positive impact on Sherlock than he did. "But about the kiss, I didn't mean to – to er push you." John looked at his hands. "I don't know what came over me. But, Sherlock, if you – are you attracted to me?"

Sherlock was frozen, staring at the ceiling, mouth open just slightly. It didn't even look like the detective was breathing. John waited another moment, heart nearly beating out of his chest. Lana began to stir. "Oh … okay. Yeah." John stood awkwardly and he grabbed the baby gently off of Sherlock. "You don't want to talk about it. That's fine. I'll – I'll just get Lana her bottle." J ohn pursed his lips and took Lana into the kitchen feeling absolutely ridiculous. He set Lana in her car seat and began preparing her bottle. He shouldn't have said anything. If Sherlock were interested he would have said something by now.

John felt a hand on his arm and then he was being spun around and then there were lips pressed against his. John's stomach flipped and he closed his eyes, arms winding around Sherlock. He was … enjoying this, despite the surprise. Yes. Kissing Sherlock was fine. More than fine. Christ, it was wonderful. John crushed their bodies together and a low sound came from Sherlock's throat, sending shivers up John's spine.

Sherlock pulled away. "John," He whispered, leaning forward so their foreheads were touching. "Yes. There is physical attraction, though mostly I am attracted to who you are. Your unwavering loyalty and devotion … it's …" Sherlock kissed him gently again. "I have never _felt_ so much. I don't know how you d o it."

John looked up at Sherlock, heart in his throat. "Sherlock … if," he swallowed hard. "If you want to try er, this, I will try with you." Had he just said that? Had he really?

A guarded, happy gleam lit up Sherlock's eyes momentarily. "Are you sure?" Sherlock asked hesitantly, as if he didn't believe the words had just come from John's lips. It took a moment, and a slight internal debate, but John nodded. "I would like to try John." Sherlock told quietly.

John giggled softly, dropping his head to rest on Sherlock's chest. "I just want Lana to be in a household where those who are taking care of her love each other and love her and … I just want it to be good."

Sherlock chuckled. "Whether or not we had decided at a relationship, Lana would have had people who love each other taking care of her."

John closed his eyes, a goofy grin on his face, and pulled Sherlock closer. This is what he needed. A warm body to comfort him, someone who was always there, someone close, someone he could trust with his life and Lana's life. It didn't matter that this someone was a man. John knew he had loved Sherlock; now he was beginning to wonder if he could fall _in_ love with Sherlock.

"John, I – I will tell you now that I do not have the same … urges that most people do." Sherlock told him quietly. John looked up at the detective, momentarily confused. "Sexual urges, John. I don't ... really get them. Though I do want to be in a relationship with you. It's been a long time since I have felt anything like this, so you'll have to bear with me."

John nodded quickly, his mind reeling with the thought of a, probably very, young Sherlock trying to woo a classmate. "Of course, Sherlock. We'll take this very slow."

A small smile played at the corners of Sherlock's lips. He cupped John's face with his hand, running a thumb over John's cheek. "However, should you have urges of your own," the taller man nearly purred. "I would not be opposed to try and help."

John felt his stomach flip again and he shook his head. Sex was not the first thing on his agenda. "No! Let's – Christ, okay, no." He took in a deep breath. "Let's just get comfortable with being close for now, eh?"

Sherlock nodded as Lana began to fuss for her bottle. He stepped away, leaving John free to feed the baby.

Sherlock went into the living roo m to grab his laptop and then came back into the kitchen and set to work on his experiments. His face was blank but his eyes were determined. "John, you may want to take Lana into the other room." He said quietly.

"Yeah, sure." John answered, brow knitting. He took Lana from her car seat and went to sit in his chair. He heard the sliding door to the kitchen slam closed. Fear knotted itself in John's stomach as he glanced over his shoulder, hoping he hadn't said anything to jeopardize what they had before it had even gotten started.


	5. Chapter 5

Most of the day had gone by and Sherlock hadn't come out of the kitchen and John was starting to worry. He knocked on the kitchen door and slid it open. "You going to be done anytime soon?" He asked the detective. Sherlock glanced at him, safety goggles and gloves on. "I would like to shower sometime and you know, eat. Lana will need another bottle soon."

No answer.

John's heart beat a little harder. "Sherlock?" Still nothing. He was glad he hadn't changed out of his t-shirt and sweat pants. "If it's about what I said earlier..."

"John you are breaking my concentration." Sherlock said evenly, though the tone held a warning.

"If what I said put you off, I'm sorry." John told him. "I just – this kind of new territory for both of us and you should expect mistakes from both parties, eh?"

Sherlock stood up straight, eyes closed, nostrils flaring. "John, please."

"I want to start off on the right foot Sherlock. So if I've offended you already, I want to - CHRIST!" John ducked away as Sherlock threw a beaker at the wall. "Sherlock, what the hell?"

"I need to finish these!" Sherlock shouted. "Some of them are rather important John. I am just trying to help!" Sherlock tore off his gloves and shoved his hands into his hair.

"Help?" John retorted. "Sherlock, how is this helping?" He shoved his way into the kitchen and kneeled, beginning to pick up the glass.

Sherlock looked at him guiltily and then continued gathering his data. John sighed nervously, wondering what the other man had gotten himself, and inevitably the rest of the household, into. They both paused when the doorbell buzzed. Sherlock's expression turned to fear and he sprinted around the table and leapt over John, slamming himself through the door to the hallway, blue dressing gown fluttering. "Mrs Hudson! Do not answer the door!" He shouted urgently, nearly falling down the stairs in his haste.

John stood, con cerned. He rushed to the window to see who was there. A man and a woman in business attire. Who - ?

"John, get away from the window!" Sherlock called to him as he came back into the living room. "We aren't home, got it?"

John stepped away from the window, hands up in surrender, and knelt down to where Lana was on the floor. She started fussing. "You've upset her, Sherlock." John told him tersely. "All your yelling." Sherlock paced around the flat as the door bell buzzed again. He looked frustrated, throwing his arms around like a petulant child. John's brows knitted as he rocked Lana and patted her back gently. "Sherlock, who are those people?" He asked, not caring about the edge his voice had.

"Don't worry about it for now, John." Sherlock said darkly. "I'll have it under control soon."

"Don't worry? Sherlock, I have never seen you react like that before." John kept his eyes locked on the detective, absently stroking Lana's hair, trying to keep her c alm. She wasn't taking to the tension in the room. "Are you in trouble? Can I help?"

Sherlock flopped down into a kitchen chair and pressed his hands into his eyes. He sighed heavily. "You can help by staying out of my way for the next day or two."

John felt a sadness pool in his chest. He hated it when Sherlock pushed him away like this. If it was going to help, then he could deal with it anyway. "Okay." He said quietly. "At least let me get Lana a bottle then."

XXX

Hours later, John woke to a crashing sound downstairs. He glanced at the clock to see it was midnight, checked Lana to make sure she was very asleep - God she was adorable in her purple nightshirt - and crept cautiously downstairs. The light was still on in the kitchen. "Sherlock?" The detective was hurrying about the room … cleaning? "Sherlock what are you doing?"

"I've got to get it all out of the flat John." Came a dark response.

"Why's that?"John asked confused. He wasn' t really complaining, he didn't like the idea of the experiments around with Lana here.

"Mycroft." Sherlock hissed, shoving two beakers angrily in to a box.

"What's he done now?" John asked, remembering Sherlock mentioning Mycroft the other day.

Sherlock kicked the box that held his equipment. "He doesn't think I can take care of a child. He has connections in child services."

John's stomach dropped and his knees nearly gave out. "What – Those people, earlier. They were from child services?"

"Yes."

"When were you going to tell me?" John asked, trying to keep the anger out of his voice. How intent was Mycroft on taking Lana away? It wouldn't be easy to go up against the British government.

"I thought I could handle it." Sherlock muttered, rubbing at his eyes.

John heaved a big sigh and walked over to the other man. "Sherlock, now that we're wanting to try to … take things in a new direction, you have to let me know what is h appening. Especially if it affects the whole family. Can you do that? For me? For Lana?" He placed a hand gently on the detective's shoulder. "Otherwise things will never work out." He felt Sherlock stiffen. "You do still want to -?"

"Yes!" Sherlock said quickly, grabbing John's hand.

"Okay." He stepped around the chair and knelt in front of the other man. "Let me help you."

Sherlock looked into John's eyes and held his gaze for a moment, almost searching. Finally, he nodded and together they cleared the kitchen of the most of the experiments and then tidied up the majority of the flat before John went back up to his room to check on Lana. Sherlock followed him like a shadow, ascending the stairs silently. John stood at the edge of the bed and gazed down at his daughter. Sherlock glided into the room and, with a quick glance at John, crawled gently into the bed. His eyes scanned Lana, processing every inch of her. John felt a warmth grow in his chest. With Sherlock watching her, she would always be safe; he would know the second there was anything wrong with her, and that was a most relieving thought.

John couldn't help his eyes from wandering, following the lines of Sherlock's body, the tight hug of his shirt around his shoulders and how it all lead so wonderfully to the curve of his a – Christ was he really looking at Sherlock like this? John blinked a few times, smiling lightly to himself. He was allowed to look at Sherlock like this now, he reminded himself. He would have never let himself indulge before. John was sure he'd always been attracted to Sherlock, though it was only recently that his feelings has become overwhelming. Lydia had been a last ditch attempt to keep his mind off of Sherlock, but the cases were intense and even Lydia had reminded him of Sherlock. Perhaps that had been why he'd asked her out for dates in the first place.

"Enjoying the view?" Sherlock asked quietly, breaking into John's tho ughts. Sherlock's lips were twisted into a wicked smile. Sherlock shifted slowly so that the curves of his body stood out starkly.

John's stomach fluttered and heat rose in his cheeks. "What happens if I am?" He chuckled. He was surprised at the huskiness of his own voice.

"You can touch if you'd like." Sherlock murmured, eyes flashing darkly.

John giggled nervously, looking to the floor. "It is going to take some time for me to get used to you flirting."

"Don't expect it all the time." Sherlock told him, rolling his eyes. His body relaxed and he shoved an arm underneath his head, laying limply on the bed.

John laughed lightly again, mostly at the situation this time. He almost couldn't believe the way things unfolded yet it felt so natural. Sherlock patted the empty space on the bed and John's stomach fluttered again, however it was accompanied by a tug in his groin as well. John swallowed and flexed his hands before he lay down. Lana was betwe en them. They both watched her for a long time.

"Mycroft doesn't like the idea of me with a child at all." Sherlock admitted quietly. "He came to the flat while you were doing the shopping once. Told me I couldn't handle keeping myself alive, why should he trust me with a baby." Sherlock closed his eyes and John felt his heart twist. He took Sherlock's hand on impulse and was pleasantly surprised at the fact that the detective didn't pull it away. "She's in my heart now, John. I won't let him take her."

John nodded. "How are we going to manage that?" He was a little surprised at the detective's openness, but he was glad that Sherlock was beginning to trust him with this kind of information.

Sherlock's lips curled into a sinful smile before he pressed his lips to John's knuckles. "We're going to give them a show."

XXX

Sherlock balanced Lana on his knee. He was dressed in his purple silk shirt, the one he always seemed most convincing in. The flat was the tidiest it had ever been. John sat in his chair tapping his foot. He had also attempted to look extra put together today. It was torturous waiting for the child service agents to show up again.

"Remember," Sherlock started. "Whatever I do, just act natural."

Before John could respond the door bell sounded. John rose from his chair and headed into the kitchen to start the kettle. Sherlock took a deep breath and put on his best domestic bliss smile as shifted his hold on Lana so that he cradled her against his chest. He grabbed the bottle off of the coffee table and began feeding her as Mrs Hudson led a man and a woman into the living room.

"Boys, you've got visitors!" The land lady chimed happily.

"Thank you for bringing them in, Mrs Hudson." Sherlock said, rising from his seat on the couch, smile still plastered on his face. "John!" He called into the kitchen.

A surprised noise came from the other room and John walked in, friendly smile sparklingly displayed. Sherlock felt a twinge of pride. "Hello, I'm John Watson," the doctor said, extending a hand forward. The woman took his hand first and pleasantries were exchanged as everyone greeted each other. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Actually," The woman, Ms Nasser started. Her thick black hair was up in a severe bun and her dark eyes made her seem as though she was looking down on the two men, though she was shorter than John. "Mr Watson, we are with child services. We are here to look at your lifestyle and determine whether or not it is safe for the child."

"Oh my," Sherlock gasped theatrically. He walked over to John and leaned close to him. "Is it …" Sherlock lowered his voice. "Is it because we're gay?" He put on an expression that he hoped was nervous and sympathizing at the same time. John coughed next to him and mumbled something about the kettle before going back into the kitchen. Sherlock smiled pleasantly at the agents. "Ignore h im, he's so shy."

"Mr Holmes," The man, Mr York, tall, thin and lanky in an ill fitting suit, took in a breath and motioned around the flat. "Would you mind showing us around?"

"Oh, of course!" Sherlock piped. John came back into the living room and handed the agents mugs of tea. "John, darling, would you be a doll and take Lana while I show our guests the kitchen and bedrooms?"

John had an amused glint in his eye. "Sure." He took Lana gently. "There's my girl." He kissed Sherlock's cheek and then headed to the couch. "Thanks for feeding her, love."

Sherlock gave him a goofy grin that wasn't all theatrics. "My pleasure. Anyway! The kitchen!" Sherlock clapped his hands together and took a few steps toward the other room. "Here's where we make the food. I say we; John is the one who always cooks. I'm hopeless in the kitchen." He giggled good-naturedly and watched the agents closely. Mr York looked confused; his brows knitted slightly, his jaw hanging sl ack, eyes scanning the flat lethargically. Ms Nasser however was much sharper. Her gaze was bordering on suspicious as her almond eyes took in the entirety of the kitchen in one sweep and her mouth tight like she wasn't ready to trust him. Sherlock had to give her credit; having been sent by Mycroft, she should have been prepared for something like this. "Through here is our bedroom and the bathroom." He opened the doors, showing the agents the tidy rooms. "And then upstairs is the spare bedroom. Lana will be moving up there when she is big enough." He smiled widely at the agents.

Ms Nasser pulled out a moleskin notebook and jotted down a few notes. "So you all share a bed, Mr Holmes?" She asked icily, right eyebrow raised in a rather predatory way.

Sherlock felt a nervous twinge shoot through him. "Yes," He admitted, flapping his hand in front of his face. He led them back to the living room, brain racing. "Lana was a bit unexpected. We haven't gone out to get a crib yet." John looked up from where he was patting Lana's back on the couch. Sherlock gave him a heartening glance.

"How long has Lana lived with you two?" Mr York asked.

"Just about a month." John told them. "She's my daughter. She'll be three months old in a few days." He smiled down at her proudly. Sherlock felt a warmth in his chest. He blinked at the strangeness of the sensation.

"And where was she before she lived with you, Mr Watson?" Ms Nasser inquired.

John took a deep breath and Sherlock prepared an explanation if John was unable to provide one. "She was with her mother." John said evenly.

"And the mother is no longer in the picture?"

"No, ma'am." John swallowed visibly and Sherlock felt a twinge in his stomach. He stepped over to the doctor and ran a hand through his hair reassuringly. "She – she's passed away."

Ms Nasser's expression softened. "I'm sorry to hear that." Mr York nodded, taking a sip of his tea.

"T hank you." John smiled softly.

The agents sat in the arm chairs and Sherlock sat down next to John. The two men were interrogated about their jobs and hobbies. Sherlock was impressed with his own performance, waving his arms flamboyantly, giggling at the appropriate times. He was surprised how well John was rolling with the punches; acting just as madly in love and blissful as Sherlock was. There were a few moments where he questioned if John was really acting.

Mr York took a deep breath after a good half an hour and looked around the flat, boredom on his features. "Honestly, gentlemen, we were expecting a lot more to investigate here."

"Oh, dear." Sherlock sighed, resting a hand on John's thigh. "I do apologise, we are dreadfully boring at times." John chuckled at this.

The agents stood and Sherlock did as well. Lana had fallen asleep on John's chest. "It was lovely chatting with you both." John called after them softly.

The agents smiled back at him. "Lana is beautiful Mr Watson. I'm glad she has a loving family." Ms Nasser told him, smile softening her features. "We'll be back around in a few weeks to check how she's doing."

Sherlock showed them to the door and then rushed back up the stairs, excitement bursting in chest. "John we did it!" He whispered excitedly. He clenched his hands into fists and leapt triumphantly. John chuckled and his head fell against the back of the couch, a mix of glee and relief lighting up his face. Sherlock loved seeing the expression on John. His heart was soaring. He loved this feeling.

"Yes we did, Sherlock." John breathed as Sherlock stepped toward him.

"You did so well with the reactions –"

"I did well? Christ! You were beyond brilliant with your giggles –"

"You were so quick on your toes –"

"How did I ever let myself think it would go badly –"

Sherlock silenced John's last comment with a kiss. In the back of his mind, Sherlock k new he was pushing his luck, but this feeling was bordering on euphoria and he needed an outlet. He had resisted the urge to yank John up to meet him because Lana would have spilled onto the floor and that was decidedly not good. He had settled on bending over and crushing his lips to John's. John was momentarily frozen and Sherlock was afraid that he had crossed a boundary but then John relaxed and returned the kiss. Sherlock's breath caught and he felt his hands come up to cup John's face.

Sherlock broke the kiss and leaned his forehead against John's. "We should celebrate." He murmured.

John took in a shuddering breath. "And how will we do that?"

"However you would like, John." Sherlock said, running his thumbs across John's cheeks. He enjoyed the pink that tinged up the other man's face.

John looked up through his eyelashes. "You know, getting a takeaway sounds pretty good. And there's a Monty Python movie on the telly tonight which I haven't seen in ages." He licked his lips and Sherlock's stomach flipped.

"John we do that all the time." Sherlock said softly. He was confused. He had been expecting dinner out or helping each other make a meal.

"Yeah, well," John shifted nervously. "I've got a new boyfriend and I haven't had a chance to have to do that with him yet." His hands came up to join Sherlock's, strong fingers gripping Sherlock's wrists tightly.

Sherlock closed his eyes and a small smile crept up on his lips that wasn't entirely voluntary. Boyfriend. Why did that word make his stomach turn in somersaults? "You're right. That sounds lovely."

XXX

All things considered, John had never felt more content in his life. The remains of their dinner were still on the coffee table – Vietnamese, tonight – and one of his favourite films was on, though he was hardly watching. He was stuffed into one corner of the couch with Sherlock's head in his lap. Sherlock was playing with Lana, both o f them making cooing noises that were so cute it should not have been legal. John's fingers were knotted in Sherlock's soft black curls. John could hardly believe the scene in front of him. Never in a million years had he thought that Sherlock Holmes would be in such a relaxed and intimate scene, especially with a baby. John chuckled disbelievingly to himself.

"What?" Sherlock asked him distractedly as Lana shrieked with glee from Sherlock's tickling.

"Just you. And this." John told the detective softly. He stroked Sherlock's hair absently.

Sherlock laughed as well leaning into John's touch. "Not quite where I thought I'd be either." He admitted. "We should probably be getting her to bed."

They took Lana through her nightly routine together, giving her a bath, reading a story, and finally to bed. John had never felt so connected to Sherlock before and it was hardly his fault when he leaned into the detective as they watched Lana sleep from the edge of the bed. Sherlock's this time. His bed was bigger than John's and would fit them all more comfortably.

"Thank you." John said quietly.

"For what exactly?" Sherlock asked. He placed a hand on John's shoulder. John was still unused to these tender moments, though he couldn't say that he disliked them.

"For letting her stay. For helping chase off those bloody child service agents, though they were lovely people. For so many things really, Sherlock." John closed his eyes. These quiet moments with Sherlock were turning him all fluffy. He couldn't believe Sherlock was even letting him talk like this. Taking in a big breath, John turned to Sherlock and, before any inhibitions could stop him, kissed him. The detective returned the kiss instantly, wrapping his arms around John's waist and pressing their bodies together. John shoved his hands into Sherlock's hair and kissed his way down Sherlock's neck, making the other man whimper his name. The sound set off a fire in John's stomach and he attached himself to a patch of skin just beneath Sherlock's jaw. Part of John's brain was asking why he was doing this, but the majority was asking why he hadn't sooner. Sherlock smelled and tasted wonderful; a mixture of coffee and soap and something that was indescribably Sherlock that sent heat straight below his belt. John ran his hands down Sherlock's back until he reached his hips. John's hands tightened and he crushed Sherlock to him, eliciting a moan from both men.

Sherlock pushed him away slightly, eyes burning with a dark desire that sent a thrill through John's blood. Sherlock's eyes took every bit of him in and John felt oddly exposed under the look, especially when the detective honed on his rapidly growing erection. A wicked smile crossed Sherlock's face and John flushed hotly, mind racing at where that smile might lead. Then Sherlock was on him, hands over every inch of him, before Sherlock nimbly undid his jeans. John felt his knees give out as Sherlock shoved a hand down his pants. Sherlock caught him and guided them both to the floor. He settled John between his legs and pushed his jeans down from around his hips. John couldn't believe this was happening. He hadn't been touched in ages and now to be touched with Sherlock's hand, it was almost too much. He heard small whimpering moans escape his lips as Sherlock worked him with surprising dexterity.

"Hush, John." Sherlock purred, kissing his temple. "You don't want to wake the baby."

The vibration of Sherlock's voice against his skin nearly set John over the edge, and his feeble cries became desperate and his hips bucked upward. Sherlock laughed darkly, apparently enjoying the near complete control he had over John. He began nibbling where John's ear met his neck and oh God John couldn't handle himself anymore. He bit down on his fist to keep quiet as Sherlock brought him through orgasm. John leaned back on the floor, panting and ridi ng out the high. "Sh – Sherlock. That was ... mmm. Very good."

Sherlock gazed at him with a guarded expression and something in John's chest twinged nervously. "You'd want to do that again?"

"Yes." John answered breathlessly.

"You'd want _me_ to do that again?" Sherlock's voice almost sounded hesitant as his all seeing gaze raked over John yet again.

John looked at Sherlock as steadily as he could; feeling that this moment was big for the other man. "Yes, Sherlock. And I'd want to return the favour." John was surprised at his own words but within a heartbeat he knew it was true. Maybe he wasn't gay, maybe not even bisexual, but he could definitely feel himself becoming consulting-detective-sexual.

Pink tinged Sherlock's cheeks and he looked at Lana. "We should invest in a crib as soon as possible."


	6. Chapter 6

Lana grew fast. It seemed all John had to do was blink and she was saying "dada" another blink and she was beginning to scoot around on the floor, sitting up, giggling at peek-a-boo. John attended Lydia's funeral with a wave of guilt. He bought Lana a nice dress and took her as well. Sherlock insisted he come along at the last minute. Lydia's parents were glad that they had all showed. Lydia's mother was far kinder this time around. She gave John Lana's birth certificate and other such things and requested that she and her husband be able to see Lana. John agreed wholeheartedly. Lydia's mother insisted they call her if they ever needed a babysitter.

John called his family. Harry was the only one to come to the flat. She and John chatted pleasantly, forgetting old rows and biting insults, until Sherlock came out of their bedroom carrying Lana, both looking disheveled from sleep. Sherlock had just come off of a case and had made it home just in time to take Lana to her afternoon nap. Harry was taken aback by Sherlock's appearance. She tried to hold Lana, but the baby just cried, though she was probably just a bit cranky from waking up. Harry left the flat in a blind rage, shouting about _how John could have done that to her_ , let her live with their parents' torment and scorn for all of those years when it turned out they were in the same boat. The phone call to John's parents hadn't gone much better. They suggested that he bring the baby and his wife – "Though really John, why hadn't you invited us to the wedding. We would have loved to'ave met her first." – out for Christmas, because they _really_ couldn't swing a trip out to London. John hadn't tried to correct their misguided assumptions and decided that taking Lana and Sherlock home for Christmas was a bad idea.

Sherlock's family somehow already knew about the baby, already knew about John, and already knew something like this would happen. Only Mycroft stopped in once or twice a month to sneer at them and threaten Sherlock to stay clean and remember to make himself dinner once in a while. He and John decided not to make an effort to see them when the holidays came round either. Lana enjoyed the elder Holmes when he stopped by, however. She giggled as she played with his nose when he held her and he even conceded to play peek-a-boo a time or two. After a year or so had passed, the Ice Man seemed to have warmed a little to the small presence in the flat.

Sherlock mostly spoke to Lana in German – "Don't you want her raised bilingual, John? So many more possibilities for her later." – and tried to teach her everything at once. John thought it was adorable that Sherlock found Lana's baby brain so fascinating, soaking up information like a sponge. There were a few instances when John had to remind Sherlock that Lana was only 10 months old and couldn't possibly grasp the concept that one of her toy blocks was m ade of pressed spruce chips while the other was made of pressed pine chips.

Lestrade had met Lana just after she had taken her first steps. Sherlock's phone had been erupting with texts and calls, but he and John were far too focused on encouraging Lana's baby legs forward. It had been John's proudest moment when Lana wobbled the six steps from Sherlock's arms to his own outstretched hands. John had scooped her up; both men shouting in glee, kissing her cheeks at the same time just as Mrs Hudson lead Lestrade into the flat. The DI stared at them dumbfounded but congratulated them nonetheless. He asked to take a picture because the rest of the Yarders had been extremely skeptical when Sherlock had started showing up to crime scenes alone and said that John was home with the baby. No doubt Donovan would have a field day the next time she saw John.

John couldn't believe how quickly a year could pass and then have it suddenly turn into two years and then Lana began t o form sentences and respond to questions – in English and German – and identify objects. She was walking all by herself, toddling after John around the flat, giggling. Sherlock would always pretend to be a monster and chase her, and Lana would scream with delight. She was growing into an adorable three year old, hair dark and wavy like her mother's; round face and a square jaw like her father. John could hardly comprehend how beautiful she was.

There were no more boring moments. Sherlock hadn't complained about a lack of activity since Lana's arrival. Of course, he still had cases, though Sherlock was much pickier about which ones he took on. Lana seemed to have a calming effect on the detective; now he was less concerned with himself and more with Lana and John. They were the priority. John and Sherlock's relationship blossomed as time went on. John became more comfortable with what was happening between them, finding that yes, he could fall in love with Sherlock Holmes, and though the man had yet to admit it, he suspected that Sherlock had fallen head over heels for him, too. There were casual touches at Tesco, shopping had become a family ordeal, and cuddling became an outside of the bedroom activity as well. John was surprised at how affectionate Sherlock could be. The man loved to be touched once he had convinced himself that he liked it. He never wanted John's hand to leave his own hand or his arm or his back. For the most part, John was completely fine with this. Life seemed so good.

XXX

They neared Lana's fourth birthday. It was a mild late summer day and John had convinced Sherlock to come to the park with him and Lana. They had been there about an hour and the sun was beginning to set. John watched his daughter run and shriek with laughter as she played with the other children, a light warmth in his chest. He glanced at Sherlock, whose eyes followed Lana even closer. Sherlock glanced at him after a moment and he smiled.

"Enjoyed this, then?" John asked quietly, lacing his fingers through Sherlock's.

Sherlock chuckled and squeezed John's hand lightly. "I'm here with you and Lana, of course."

John felt his heart lighten at this. It always made him feel giddy when Sherlock got all mushy. "We should probably go home and get some dinner."

Sherlock nodded and he stood calling Lana over to them.

She bounded over to them. "Yes, Papa?" She asked breathlessly.

"It's time to go home now, sweetheart." John told his daughter with a smile.

Lana's face immediately crumbled, her big blue eyes flooding with tears. "But Daddy, I do not want to go home!"

"Lana, darling, it's time for dinner. Aren't you hungry?" Sherlock asked her reasonably, kneeling to be on her level. He wrapped a hand around her arm and pulled her close.

"No Papa! Not hungy yet!" She shouted, attempting to yank her arm out of Sherlock's grasp. She really had an explosive temper at times. Sherlock said it was John's fault.

"Lana, we've talked about this. It's pronounced 'hun-gry'." Sherlock told her calmly. John tried not to giggle.

"No!" Tears began to fall from her eyes. "No Papa, I want to play!" She stomped her feet and thrashed in Sherlock's grasp.

"Hey, now!" John interrupted. "You will not be able to stay with that kind of attitude, young lady." His voice was stern. It honestly surprised him that he was the strict parent. Sherlock was still in a honeymoon phase of sorts, mostly worrying about Lana's reactions, making sure she didn't hate him, making sure John wasn't angry with the way he treated her.

Sherlock turned to John. His grip must have loosened because Lana immediately stopped crying and wrenched her arm free and ran away from them. "Aw, hell!" Sherlock cursed as he stood.

"Lana, you come back here!" John shouted. The two men glanced at each other. Sherlock was trying to hide his smirk and John gave him a little glare. He looked back out over the park, eyes scanning for his daughter. His gaze fell on all of the children. All of the children that weren't his Lana. John's heart clenched and he dashed forward. _Where – where the fuck is she?_ were the only thoughts that filled his mind. Lana was nowhere. He spun and saw Sherlock's wild eyes desperately searching the park as well.

"Lana!"

The other parents were starting to move around, aiding in the search for her. John jogged around the perimeter of the park. How? How had he lost his daughter? He had taken his eyes off of her for one second. His blood ran cold with fear. He hadn't felt an adrenaline rush like this since Sherlock had been pointing a gun at a Semtex covered vest.

"Sir!" He head someone call. A woman was standing by a group of large bushes. He sprinted over, though Sherlock reached the woman before him. The detective helped the woman untangle the small girl from the branches. When John re ached her, Lana was crying, really crying. The woman was pulling twigs out of her dark brunette hair. John's eyes fell upon a very unwelcome mark on his daughter. A red 'x' was painted over her favourite purple puppy shirt. Over her heart.

Sherlock's hands were flying over her, checking every inch to make sure she wasn't hurt. John told the woman thank you and kneeled down. Sherlock's hands froze and he spun Lana around. A flamboyant 'M' spanned the back of her blue jacket. John turned to Sherlock and saw all of the color drain from the detective's face.

"Sherlock…" John said quietly.

Sherlock leaped up and nearly dove into the bush, before emerging on the opposite side, searching for whoever had done this. John tried his best to calm Lana as relief flooded his system. He picked her up and held her tightly against his chest, not caring that the paint was transferring onto his navy blue jumper. He stroked her hair and shushed her, trying to stop her crying . "It's okay baby girl. Daddy's got you now. No one can hurt you, dearest."

Sherlock swept passed him in the direction of the flat, murder plain in his glacial eyes. John followed quickly behind him, still desperately clutching his daughter. "Sherlock!" But the detective's strides were much too long. John couldn't keep up without jogging and he didn't want to jostle Lana too much.

They reached the flat in record time, Sherlock bursting through the door and thundering up the stairs. John felt his military training kicking in as he prepared to face the maelstrom. He tread carefully as he ascended the stairs. "Sherlock?"

The tall man was pacing in the living room, hands clenching and unclenching. "He's found her. God, he's probably known for years. Why would I let myself be so stupid?"

John watched cautiously. Lana, mostly done with her tears, clung to John, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. She had a few scrapes on her hands, but nothing a bath woul dn't take care of.

"Sherlock, what is it?" John asked, afraid he already knew the answer.

Sherlock whirled on him, causing Lana to cower against John's shoulder. The detective's eyes flashed dangerously, his entire stance becoming predatory. "Moriarty." Sherlock spat. John fought the urge to shrink away, basic training coming in handy, as the detective took a menacing step toward them. "He's targeted Lana now."


	7. Chapter 7

John stared at the ceiling in the darkened bedroom. Lana shifted next to him. She was allowed to sleep in his bed tonight because she was scared. John pursed his lips and glanced at the empty space where Sherlock should be. The detective hadn't spoken after his outburst, just slumped on the couch, steepled fingers to his lips, eyes angrily focused on something in the distance. Lana hadn't even tried to sit on his lap. She clung to John until she was falling asleep. John hadn't wanted to let her go.

He glanced at the clock. Four-thirty in the morning. He sighed heavily wishing sleep would take him, but it almost seemed stupid to keep trying at this point. John got out of bed, careful not to wake his daughter, and walked out into the living room. A jolt of fear hit him when he saw Sherlock crumpled on the floor, still in the clothes he had been wearing at the park. John strode over to him and let a relieved breath to see Sherlock's eyes dart towards him.

"Coming to bed?" John asked quietly.

"No." Sherlock said flatly.

John pursed his lips and gave a little nod. "I'll join you here, then." He sank down to the floor and situated himself so that his shoulder was pressed against Sherlock's back. After a moment, Sherlock shifted away so that they were no longer touching. John felt his heart sink. As his jaw flexed, he told himself to keep his breathing even so that Sherlock wouldn't notice how much this was affecting him. Sherlock was distant and monotonous, reminiscent of how he was before Lana, before John. It seemed he was turning himself off from people again. John rolled on his side so he was facing the other man's back. "Sherlock, please." He whispered. He reached out a hand, but stopped short before making contact.

Sherlock whipped around. For half of a second, his eyes were sad and held a look of desperation. But John saw him mentally shake himself and the cool mask of the world's only consulting detective slid into place. A wave of bitterness hit John like a kick in the stomach. So this was it, then.

"Please what, John?" Sherlock asked in a clipped tone. The blank expression was the cruelest thing John had seen in a long time.

"You know what." John deadpanned. The effort to keep the desperation out of his voice was almost too much. "Don't you do this to me."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed in mock confusion. "Do what exactly?"

Tears filled John's eyes. Yes. This was really it. "Just like that, eh? I guess I shouldn't have expected – mmm – why did I even –" He laughed bitterly and stood up before he embarrassed himself further. He could feel his face burning. His throat was starting to close. "Four years a _fucking_ waste, then?" John waited for an answer. He ducked his head when none came and told himself to breathe. "Thanks for that."

The silence that followed him back into the bedroom was probably what hurt the worst.

XXX

Sherlock felt like he was in a coma. Self induced of course. He had stayed on the floor for the rest of the night, willing his heart to stop shattering into pieces as he heard John's faint cries from the bedroom. But now he was perfectly, blissfully numb. Just as he had been before the baby had come into their – his life, before he realized his attraction to his flat mate. Oh how he had missed this nonfeeling. He had let himself become attached, become weak. And now he had fixed it. His brain was working at full capacity again and it was brilliant. Now he could finally focus on Moriarty.

The door out of the flat slammed. The doctor had left and hadn't said anything. Must still be upset from a few hours ago. Of course he was look at what you – Sherlock took in a big breath. Must keep those troublesome thoughts away all that mattered now was –

"Papa!" A shrill voice came. With a flurry of motion, the baby flung herself onto his body. "Was machst du, Papa?" _What are you doing?_ He didn't look at the small girl in his lap. If anything, that would break him. Dr Watson must've told her to be extra sweet. That was simply not fair. "Papa?" He was sure she was looking up at him with those big blue eyes that nearly resembled his own.

"Lana, ich muss allein sein." He told her. _I must be alone_. Stay the course. Stare ahead. He must not break.

"Warum?" _Why?_ She patted his chest with her tiny, chubby baby hands, nearly begging to be paid some attention. "Ich liebe dich, Papa." _I love you._ Sherlock felt a hitch in his breath. No no no. "Können wir ein Spiel spielen?" _Can we play a game?_

Sherlock huffed out a dramatic sigh. Tedious. Yes this was tedious. It was most certainly not heart wrenching. "Nicht jetzt, Lana. Du musst in dein Zimmer gehen. Spiele mit deinen Puppen." _Not now, Lana. You must go to your room. Play with your dolls._

The baby pushed herself off of him. He chanced a g lance and saw tears fill her eyes. He looked away quickly. "Jetzt!" _Now!_ He shouted, a bit louder than he anticipated. The baby cringed and ran up the stairs as fast as her child legs could take her.

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair as his breathing became uneven. Lana, he'd frightened his poor baby Lana. And after what had happened yesterday … No. No, that was why he was doing this. He needed to protect Lana. He needed to protect John. This was the only way. Sherlock took a few deep breaths to ground himself and then got up to take a shower and finally change his clothes.

The shower was soothing on his nerves, and Sherlock had rid himself of emotion fully again once he was dressed and sitting and thinking on the couch. He continued to plan his first attack on Moriarty. He would have to get away from here, away from the doctor and the baby as soon as possible. He may even have to go to Mycroft for a small shove in the right direction. He needed locat ions, data, anything he could his hands on. The front door slammed open. So the good doctor was home. Joy.

Watson came sprinting up the stairs. "You complete and utter fuck!" He shouted.

Sherlock froze and looked up at the fuming man, genuinely not understanding the context. John was upset. More upset than he had been before. His face was a bright magenta, making the red plaid pattern of his shirt pop unpleasantly. "What?"

John lunged forward and grabbed Sherlock by the lapels of his suit. It seemed as though it took all of John's strength not to punch him. "I know what you're thinking and I need you to stop. Stop it now because I won't let you." John pulled him up close so their faces were just inches apart. "Do you hear me? I. Will. Not. Let. You."

"Daddy?" Lana wailed from her bedroom.

"Not now, love. Stay upstairs." John called to her. Sherlock felt a smidgen of fear as John's ocean eyes blazed in front of him. "What did you do to her?"

"Nothing!" Sherlock sputtered, taken aback. "John, you know I'd never do anything to her." This was not the situation Sherlock wanted or needed to be in at this moment. John was severely testing his barriers.

"You love her?" John asked unevenly, hands still tight around his suit jacket.

Sherlock toyed with a response for a moment. If he was going to leave to fight Moriarty, he did want John to know he still loved them both. But admitting it out loud right now would surely break him.

"Answer me!" John seethed, shaking him slightly.

Sherlock was nearly overwhelmed. John never acted like this. What had gotten in to him? "Yes!" He answered finally. "And – and I love you too, John." He stuttered, walls cracking, numbness draining. "All right? I love you both so much and that's why I have to do this. I have to."

John shook his head and licked his lips. "Sherlock." His voice cracked and he pulled Sherlock down for a kiss. It was an earth shattering kiss. Sherlock's knees went weak from the passion and the pure burning emotion that was being transferred through their lips. Then John was pushing him to the bedroom, using the grip on his suit jacket to steer him.

They hadn't, in the four years that Sherlock considered them a couple, actually had sex. John really was shy about a lot of things and Sherlock had been cautious with how much he was giving and taking from John. But now, it seemed, John was initiating it and Sherlock felt the last of his defenses crumble. Perhaps he could let himself indulge tonight. He began pulling at John's clothing, shedding the awkward plaid from John's body that was now red with desire. "I'm sorry, John." Sherlock whispered desperately between kisses. "John. My John. Beautiful John."

John let out a small moan, pushing Sherlock onto the bed and for a couple hours they blocked out the world and just relished in being tangled together, no space between them.

XXX

John w as notably quiet the next day. At least he was around Sherlock. He laughed and played with Lana and the sight of them together was more than Sherlock could bear. He had to get away from them immediately before he couldn't bear to part with them. His opportunity came when John suggested they go for a walk.

Sherlock frantically went through his list of safe houses, bank accounts, and who he needed to talk to for a fake passport. He would disappear. Just melt into the city when the doctor and the baby weren't looking. It was the fastest way and then he could begin his hunt without skipping a beat.

The baby was between them, holding both his and the doctor's hands, begging them to swing her into the air again. The gleeful giggle that she had, that was enough to make Sherlock seriously consider taking them all into hiding and forget all about Moriarty.

They rounded a corner only to see a man in the process of being mugged.

"Jesus!" John whispered, pushing them all back. "Sherlock, take Lana. I'm going to see if I can help."

"John, no. You can't!" Sherlock pulled Lana against him, turning her away from the violence. This was not good. This was so very, very bad. Now he wouldn't be able to escape and what if John was hurt?

John walked cautiously over to the men, military calmness emanating full force. "Hey, mate. You happen to have –" The mugger and his victim turned toward him and both jumped on him. Sherlock watched in horror as John began to fight back. He was gaining the upper hand when one of the men seemed to panic. He disentangled himself from the fray put his hands on John's head and snapped his neck.

Sherlock's jaw dropped in a silent scream. He was going to be sick. Watching John fall to the ground completely limp was nearly his undoing.

"Jesus fucking Christ! You weren't supposed to kill anyone!" One of the men said, clearly distraught. Sherlock stayed hidden in the entryway of a building, p ressing Lana to his chest, shushing her and running his hands over her hair.

"How was I supposed to know they'd be that good at fighting? Just get Mike over here so we can get rid of him."

Sherlock heard a van pull up. A blackness was closing in on him. Not John. Anyone but John. Oh God. At the squeal of tyres, Sherlock glanced over again. The men were gone. John's body was gone. Sherlock forced back a sob. What was he going to do now? What the fuck was he going to do now?

Sherlock, clutching Lana painfully close, began running back to flat before he lost his vision, before his legs could go out, before he collapsed into a big blubbering pile because this was so wrong. This wasn't supposed to happen. How would he get away? How would he protect Lana and – no. Just Lana now.

They made it back to the flat without incident. He called for Mrs Hudson. His grip on Lana was failing, he felt himself falling.

"Where's Daddy, Papa?" Lana asked, fear in h er voice. Oh his poor baby.

Sherlock tried to answer but found he no longer had a voice. He collapsed against the wall in the hallway. The hallway where he first knew John would be his best and only friend.

"Papa?"

"Sherlock, what's happened here?" Mrs Hudson's voice was panicked. He shoved Lana toward her as he sank toward the floor. This was wrong. Everything was wrong.

"Papa!" Lana screamed. "Where's Daddy?" She was crying now. She could feel the wrongness of the situation too.

"Oh dear. Oh." Mrs Hudson took Lana into her flat, glancing over her shoulder at Sherlock's crumpled form. "Let's get some nice tea and biscuits, Lana." Mrs Hudson told her, trying to calm her. "I'll let you watch your favourite movie again."

Sherlock couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't do anything. He should be calling Lestrade. He should be comforting Lana. He should be out there trying to find the bastards that had done this.

Instead he passed out. 

XXX

A few days later Sherlock got a call from Lestrade saying they had found John's body. Sherlock rushed to the morgue. The body was beaten and mutilated and burned beyond recognition, all post mortem obviously, but Lestrade said dental records checked out. Lestrade watched as Sherlock's thumbs ran over his finger nails as he stood staring at the man on the slab, body stiff as a board. Lestrade also rested a hand on his shoulder as Sherlock's breath gasped out of control and eventually held Sherlock as the detective's body was wracked with sobs. He mumbled something about hating his job sometimes.

Lestrade escorted Sherlock back to the flat. Lana was excited to see her Uncle Greg, but she also knew that there was something very wrong with her Papa so she ran to Lestrade without screaming his name like she usually did.

Lestrade held her. "What are you going to do, then?" He asked Sherlock.

Sherlock didn't want to answer. He honestly did not kno w. His brain had stopped functioning the moment he saw John's body hit the ground. He hadn't eaten, hadn't slept, just stared ahead in a numbness that he hadn't forced upon himself. The visit to the morgue had not helped one bit.

"You know I'm here for you if you need help with anything." Lestrade told him gently. Sherlock only nodded. He heard Lestrade sigh. "Lana, your Uncle Greg needs to go back to work now. You know how to call me if anything happens right?"

Lana nodded proudly. "999 and ask for Unco Lestad."

"There's my girl. Go give your Papa a hug now."

Sherlock heard Lestrade set her down and then a flurry of little feet until a small warm body crashed into him. Sherlock pulled Lana into his lap and curled himself around her. This little flame of life. All he had left of John.

"You know how to contact me." Lestrade said as he left.

"Thank you," Sherlock called after him.

XXX

"It's for the best you know." Mycroft said. T he man standing next to him huffed out a bitter laugh. They watched Lestrade leave the flat. "This will work out in the end. It will be worth it."

The man licked his lips and clenched his hands. "It better be."


	8. Chapter 8

"Sherlock Holmes, you get up this instant!"

It took an enormous effort, but Sherlock finally shoved his eyelids apart. He lethargically turned his head to see Mrs Hudson glaring down at him. She was holding Lana's hand gingerly; the baby had tear stains down her face. He rolled his eyes as a wave of guilt washed over him.

"Lana's told me she's hungry again." Mrs Hudson said, putting a hand on her hip. Sherlock's hands clumsily scrubbed at his face and he cursed under his breath. "I may love this little girl to pieces, but she's your responsibility now." She continued to glare at him.

He pushed himself upright on the couch slowly, finding the movement made him more than a little dizzy. John knew he could hardly feed himself, why had he left him alone with the baby? Mrs Hudson's look softened and she took Lana in the kitchen. Sherlock heard them begin to make sandwiches. His head felt like it was about to split open, his mouth was disgust ingly dry and his movements were slow and cumbersome. Dehydrated then. He was fairly certain the last time he had ingested anything was John's funeral nearly four days ago.

Christ, the funeral. What a mess that had been. Mycroft had insisted he go, had even bought Lana a nice dress for the occasion. Of course he had left Sherlock to explain to her where her Daddy was and why he was in a box that was going into the ground. Lana hadn't taken it well, and still didn't understand why her Daddy couldn't just come back with them. A few of the Yarders had showed up to pay their respects. Lestrade stayed close to him and Lana. Donovan, whose appearance had surprised Sherlock, had stayed at the back of the crowd with her head quietly bowed. John's parents had been there, obviously, as had Harry, though they arrived separately. His parents had been disgustingly shocked to find Sherlock holding John's daughter. They said nothing to him and John's father left before the service ha d even started. Harry and her mother pointedly ignored him, and Sherlock was fine with that. Fewer formalities to deal with. Lydia's parents had shown, too. After the service, they had approached Sherlock and insisted that they take Lana to live with them. His reaction had been loud and violent and a glass had been broken. Mycroft had had to step in and tell them that Sherlock had legal guardianship of the child and that their offer was tempting, but unnecessary. They didn't seem convinced that it was fine to leave Lana with such a volatile man, but Mycroft convinced them he was only in a state because of the recent events, which was mostly true. Sherlock had left in a worse mood than he'd arrived in.

"Papa, I made you a sammich!" Lana announced proudly, cutting into his thoughts. She carried a tray with a paper plate and a ham and cheese sandwich on it, a big grin plastered on her face. Most of her baby fat was melting away as she grew every day. Sherlock mentally sma cked himself; he was missing so much of her with this sulking. Mrs Hudson followed with a second tray and drinks.

Sherlock couldn't help the upturn of his lips. Lana set the tray on the coffee table and looked expectantly at her Papa. Sherlock felt his breath catch. "Thank you, darling." He croaked. His throat felt like sandpaper and he eyed the glasses on Mrs Hudson's tray eagerly. He slid onto the floor and pulled Lana into his lap. The baby pressed gently into him, making his heart soar and ache at the same time.

Mrs Hudson placed her tray on the table, watching them with a loving light in her eye. "You best make sure he drinks his water, Lana." The land lady said playfully. "I'll not have him keel over from dehydration."

"Yes, ma'am." Lana replied politely. Just as John had taught her. Sherlock grabbed Lana's plate and set it on the floor in front of them. Her sandwich was delicately cut in four pieces. She took a piece and began to eat, humming happily to herself. Mrs Hudson smiled down at them sadly and left to go back to her own flat. "You best eat, Sherlock. I won't have that child completely orphaned because of your stubbornness."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and grabbed his sandwich to take a bite. His stomach made an ungodly rumbling noise that made Lana giggle. He found that his mouth was too dry to effectively eat, so he forced down the bite he had taken and went for the water instead.

"When is Daddy coming home?" Lana asked between her tiny bites.

Sherlock's eyes closed. "We've discussed this, Lana." His grip on the glass was almost painful. He took a long drink of water. He choked back a moan. The liquid hitting his throat was the most relieving feeling in the world. He was enjoying this more than the recalled sensation of the first hit after three days of withdrawal. He finished off the glass in a rush of breath and set it down, feeling more grounded. "Daddy is not coming home." His voice caught a nd he took in a shaky breath.

Lana stood and turned to look at him dutifully. They were the same height at the moment, both looking into striking blue eyes. "Pease don't cry again, Papa." She said placing her hands on his face. "Pease, I love you."

Sherlock let out a laugh that sounded more like a sob and pulled her tightly to him. "I love you, too baby girl." He pushed her gently away to hold her at arms lengths. "I won't cry anymore." He promised her. "Let's finish our lunch, eh?" Lana smiled and he returned the expression, chapped lips stretching painfully. He had to get out of this state for her. He had to persevere for her. He couldn't give up because the only person he cared for so deeply and had cared so deeply for him was gone. There was Lana now, and his love for her rivaled his love for John. John had left her in his care and he couldn't let him down like that. He wouldn't.

Lana sat back down in his lap and he kissed the top of her head before the y both resumed eating.

XXX

"Moran." Mycroft said in his usual business like tone. He handed over a folder that was brimming with files and photos.

"Sorry, who?" John – no, no he was Percy for the moment – asked. He glanced through the folder. His hair was different now, cut military short, dyed black, as was the goatee he now sported. Even his eyebrows had been coloured. "I thought I was going after Moriarty."

"Colonel Sebastian Moran. Moriarty's favourite assassin; sends him around the world killing who needs to be killed. On the surface the relationship is professional, but," Mycroft raised an eyebrow suggestively. "Certain intelligence has suggested a stronger bond."

John chuckled. Wouldn't that just be something? "So why am I killing him and not the man who runs the whole operation." He stared at Mycroft challengingly. He wasn't going to make this easy on the elder Holmes. Not for what he was doing to his family.

"It has come to ou r attention that perhaps Moran is more than just a gun. When not away on a job, Moran helps run the business. It would appear he has as much power over the clientele as Moriarty. He is always there when meeting clients in person, and he sends others out to do small jobs." Mycroft shrugged. "Almost as if he does most of the work. Take away Moran and Moriarty is weak."

John looked up from a rather grisly crime scene photo and frowned. "Then what exactly does Moriarty do?"

"James Moriarty comes across to us as the brains and as a figure head." Mycroft smiled at him wryly. "If you were running a criminal ring, wouldn't you want someone as intimidating and, to put it bluntly, insane as him to show off what you could do? To make sure no one could think they would be able to challenge you?" Mycroft folded his hands in his lap. "Moriarty brings a certain terrifying air of power. No one really wants to deal with a mad man, do they? Moran provides just enough stability tha t the clients trust them as a whole."

John nodded at length and then turned back to the file in his lap. He couldn't help but glance at his expensive new jeans. They were much more than he would ever pay for himself, as was the rest of his new wardrobe. Right now he looked like the CEO of some important and wealthy company who was on vacation. John didn't think the look suited him.

The file held a lot of information on Moran. He had been in the army as well – dishonorably discharged, a crack shot, educated, and had even written a few books. John's brows knitted and he felt a hopelessness wash over him. He was expected to take this man down? He had been invalided from the army, had let himself get pudgy and comfortable. Moran was still in practice, still … God he was ripped based off of this picture. Tall and blonde, with a rugged rectangular head. He had a long intimidating scar down the left side of his face as well. John thought he almost looked like a tige r.

"You'll be able to beat him, John." Mycroft told him softly, as if he was able to read John's mind. He hated the Holmeses for that ability. "What does this Moran person have to live for? Money and power? You have your family you need to protect. I have never seen a more powerful motivator." Mycroft tried to offer a comforting smile, but it ended up looking more like a sneer.

John glared out the window of the small charter plane they were riding in. He was angry. He had been angry since that first meeting about two weeks ago. His phone had gone off a few hours after he realized Sherlock was separating himself from the family. The message had been from Mycroft, telling him to get in the car that was waiting for him outside the flat. He had been prepared to rip Mycroft apart, but the grim look that the elder Holmes' face had held made him pause as soon as he opened the car door.

"Get in, John." He had said flatly. John had conceded and grudgingly climbed in . He had felt embarrassed. Surely it was obvious he'd been crying. After a few tense moments Mycroft began speaking. "I trust that Sherlock didn't take yesterday afternoon's events well?"

John had shaken his head. He had no idea how Mycroft knew what had happened, but he found that he didn't care in this moment. "He's started shutting in on himself. He's probably figuring on leaving." John had admitted dejectedly.

"That is what he plans to do." Mycroft had said bluntly. "Though he will try to go after Moriarty."

John's stomach had dropped into his feet. "What? No. He can't. He'll be killed." The words had flooded out of John's mouth before he could stop them.

"Which is why I think it best to send you instead."

John had felt like he had had the wind knocked out of him. "Sorry, what?" John had asked breathlessly. "You want me to pack up my things, kiss my family good bye, and just leave them to go kill a man?"

Mycroft's expression had never deviated from a serious mask. "No. They can't know what you will be doing. It would put all of you in more danger than you already are." Mycroft took in a deep breath and brushed nonexistent lint from his trousers. "That's why you will have to fake your death so you can perform the task in secret."

John had just stared blankly at the man across the car, mouth hanging open. Mycroft had waited patiently. "I can't do it. I won't." John had said eventually. "I won't put them through that kind of pain. I won't risk their trust like that." He had felt dirty just thinking about it.

Mycroft's lips had turned into a thin line. "So you're just going to let Sherlock run off and do it, then?"

John had pursed his lips and lifted his chin, refusing to meet Mycroft's gaze.

"I don't trust my brother with this kind of task, John." Mycroft had admitted quietly. "If I did, we would have already set something in motion, but his heart is too close to the matter now. It is no longer just between him and Moriarty."

"And my heart isn't too close?" John had spat bitterly. "Me? The emotional one out of the pair? You sure you know what you're doing?"

"You have training, John." Mycroft reasoned. "Sherlock does not. It would be extremely unsafe for him to run after Moriarty. He may think himself capable of such things, but let us be reasonable. He's needed you to protect him how often?"

John had felt his eyes close as the reasons sunk in. Mycroft was right. As much as he hated it, the man was right. He couldn't let Sherlock do something so stupid.

Mycroft's voice had turned urgent. "We've got it all set up John. We could have you out of here tomorrow. You would just have to follow our instructions and we can help you protect Sherlock and Lana. Your family."

John had opened his eyes and glared at Mycroft. "What would I have to do?"

"John," Mycroft's voice brought him back to the present. He looked solemnly at the o ther man. "We are about to land in Gdansk. You will be on your own from here." Mycroft handed him a new cell phone as the plane slowly began to descend. "We will keep you informed with as much intelligence as possible. I will wish you good luck now." He placed a hand on John's shoulder. "Please, for your family's sake, stay safe."

John took in a sharp breath and gave a curt nod. He still felt wrong doing this, but his military training came flooding back. Sherlock wasn't the only one who could effectively block out emotions when it was needed. He would do this. He had to.


	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock stared at the empty space next to him in the bed. There was an emptiness in his chest as his thoughts aimlessly wandered to the last night he and John had spent together; he was nearly desperate to feel John's skin against his again, the graze of stubble on his chin, John's hands feverishly covering his body, John inside of him – _God_. He closed his eyes and took in a steadying breath. Ten months. Ten months of this every night, this dull aching want. Not just for the sex, but the closeness, the love John offered him. So pure and unconditional. He missed his partner, his best friend.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open as he heard a small shifting upstairs. He glanced at the clock to see 12:15. Lana should not be up. He heard a quiet whimper and launched himself out of his bed. He took the stairs two at a time, but opened Lana's door gently so as to not frighten her.

"Lana, darling, are you all right?" He asked quietly.

"Papa ," She said weakly. "My tummy huwts." She sniffled and tried to sit up in the bed.

Sherlock rushed to her side. In his head he ran through anything that could be affecting her. They had had Chinese takeaway but he had gotten her something mild. Perhaps food poisoning? But he was fine. Then again Lana was also so young, her immune system not used to certain things. He had also taken her to the park. A young male child had been coughing and sneezing. Maybe she had caught something from him? He placed a hand on her forehead, no fever.

" _Papaaa_ ," The baby whined. An awkward belch erupted from her small body.

Sherlock's eyes widened and he grabbed Lana. They ran down the stairs and into the bathroom, barely making it before bile spilled out of the small girl. Lana sobbed between retches, making confused and scared noises. Sherlock hushed her and rubbed small circles on her back, promising her it would be over soon. Sherlock took a centering breath, though it did little to soothe his internal panic. This was what John had been good at. John had been a doctor. He didn't know what to do when people were sick, he could barely keep himself healthy on the best days. He cursed lightly under his breath, irrationally angry at John for leaving Lana fully in his care when he knew, _he fucking knew_ , Sherlock wouldn't be able to do it on his own. There had to be something – wait, Mrs Hudson! He stood to leave, relief flooding his system, but Lana clutched at his dressing gown, tears streaming down her face, her eyes begging him to stay.

Sherlock felt something in his chest collapse. He gathered her up and cleaned her off in the sink as she whimpered pitifully. He cuddled Lana to his chest as they trekked down to Mrs Hudson's flat. He choked back a frustrated scream when they come across the note on her door.

**Sherlock dear,**

**I've left a note because I knew you'd forget. I'm at my sisters for a long weekend.**

**Cheers!**

Sherlock attempted to keep his breathing normal, tried to stay calm for Lana's sake. But he could feel himself panicking. His baby was hurting and how could he fix it for her? He took them back up to their own flat and into the kitchen. John had always made tea when something was off. Sherlock's brain kicked into overtime. They had some unopened ginger tea and ginger could help with nausea. He steered them into the kitchen and turned on a lamp. He went to set Lana on a chair, but she clung to him desperately, tears starting again. Heaving a sigh, Sherlock clumsily set about his task.

"But Papa, Daddy always makes tea." She whimpered, watching his hands closely.

Sherlock took in a shaking breath. He hadn't made tea in ten months for exactly that reason. "Lana." He warned quietly.

"I want Daddy's tea!" The baby cried.

"Lana," Sherlock pleaded, tension filling his body. _Please not with this fixation again!_ "You know Daddy can't make tea anym ore. Please let me make you some. It will help your tummy."

Cranky from her upset stomach and the late hour, Lana began to wail and thrash her arms. "No, Papa. I want Daddy. Where's Daddy?"

Sherlock silently continued to make the tea, shoving any kind of feeling down deep, trying to stay stoic. The baby continued to have her tantrum in his arms and he began to worry what would happen when the boiling water came into the equation.

"Lana, stop your crying." He said sternly as the kettle began to scream.

"Nooo! I dun want you anymore, Papa! I want Daddy! Only Daddy!" She screeched, kicking her legs and nearly knocking the teapot off of the worktop.

Sherlock slammed his hand down and the baby stopped instantly. "Lana Marie Watson, calm yourself right now!" he nearly shouted. Lana trembled in his arms and guilt overtook him. He brought her into the living room and set her in John's chair. She cried pitifully as he finished making her cup. When he bro ught it over to her she took it quietly.

"I sowwy, Papa." She whispered; crocodile tears still in her eyes.

Sherlock settled next to her in the chair, his own cup in his hands. "It's okay, darling." He told her softly though a small part of him was still fuming from her outburst.

"I miss Daddy." She said like it solved everything. "Do you miss Daddy?" She looked up at Sherlock and her resemblance to John nearly made him choke on his tea.

"Everyday." Sherlock admitted quietly.

Lana nodded and they sipped their tea in silence. Sherlock was glad the little girl seemed to sense when silence was necessary.

"Feeling better?" He asked after a while, finished with his own cup.

"Yes, Papa." Lana yawned. "May I seep by you?"

"Yes. Have you finished your tea?"

Lana showed him her empty cup. He took it from her and they walked to Sherlock's bedroom together, Lana gripping his hand tightly.

XXX

John fell back against the f loor, breath exploding out of him. He wiped the sweat off of his brow and took a second to rest. He almost couldn't believe that he'd done 125 crunches in one go and after his other work out, too. But it was necessary. He was nearly back to his military physique and probably wouldn't let himself get out of shape again. He looked down at his stomach and saw his muscles pushing up through his skin. He smiled and poked at them. He couldn't wait for Sherlock to see him like this. All he had to do was finish killing the men who were putting his family in danger. He'd already knocked out two of Moriarty's high ranking employees. He hated it, but it gave him a sick, cold and satisfying feeling.

He glanced over to the bedside table and grabbed his wallet. He carefully pulled out his picture of Sherlock and Lana. The picture had been taken when they had been at the park. Sherlock was scooping Lana up into a hug and John had taken the picture just as they were both smiling at th e camera.

God, how he missed them.

His phone beeped. The number was unrecognizable, but then again it always was.

_-Today would be a good day to set up an appointment with The von Herder Agency I should think. MH_

John sighed. One step closer to Moran. One step closer to home. He rolled up off of the floor and took a shower. He was still always shocked when he looked in the mirror, the black hair, kept dutifully trimmed and dyed under Mycroft's direction, the facial hair. They even added smart looking rectangular glasses to the ensemble. He hardly recognized himself, but he supposed it was a good thing.

He called the number Mycroft had texted him and set up an appointment for tomorrow at three no wait! They had a sudden opening in two hours. Surprised and relieved that he could get it all over with sooner, John agreed and gave them "his" name, Percy Reynolds.

_-What exactly am I meant to do?_

_-You will go to them asking, initially, for a custom gun. Then you will mention that you wish you could be rid of someone. As charming as you are I'm sure they will immediately want to help and will put you in touch with Moriarty's people. Good luck. MH_

"Right then. No pressure." John breathed, looking at his phone. At least he had become, in his opinion, a much better actor over these months away.

John glanced around the plush hotel room. It was a little expensive for his taste, but then he wasn't paying for it. It was decorated in a modern and monochromatic style which he honestly thought was a little garish. He could still hardly believe that this task had brought him to Shantou, China and why the consulting criminal had chosen to send his second in command here was beyond him. He also wondered if Moriarty knew that the British government always seemed to know where he and Moran were. But then he supposed it didn't matter. John hated all the political games, because that's what it was to these people – games, and the fact that he was now a pawn in one of them. Mycroft, of course, set it up to look like he was protecting their family, but really it was just an excuse to rid the world of James Moriarty and his criminal network.

After today though, with this new information, things would start moving quickly again; his job would be that much closer to being done, good riddance. He pursed his lips and thought about what kind of custom gun he would want.

XXX

Lana shifted restlessly in the bed. As she kicked him for the third time, Sherlock thought about moving to the sofa, but decided against it in case the baby woke herself from thrashing about again. Besides, it was nearly four in the morning so Sherlock saw no reason to actually try and sleep. Instead he put his arm around the little girl next to him in an effort to calm her down. He assumed she was having nightmares fueled by her sickness, which he figured, after some time to calm down and think, was a stomach virus.

Lana seemed to relax at his touch and she curled around his arm. She needed a haircut; the dark waves were nearly at her waist again. Sherlock hadn't had enough energy to take Lana to get a hair cut since John's death. The only reason he'd gotten one himself five months ago, was because he hadn't argued when Mycroft took him out to lunch one afternoon and insisted he pay for the trim.

Tomorrow then, well, in a few hours. That could be their task for the day, supposing Lana was up to it. 

XXX

John walked into the high rise building that housed The von Herder Agency, among other businesses. It was well lit and sparsely decorated. The receptionist directed him to floor three. John traveled up the building in an elevator and went into a room that was decorated in all white coloring. It gave off an antiseptic feel that reminded him of the surgery. He sank down in a big plush chair and waited.

After a few moments a man with a cane walked in. He was blind. John stood and took the man's hand when he got close enough. In the back of his mind John wondered how this man would ever make him a custom weapon.

"Mr Reynolds, good to meet you." The man had a German accent. "You're here for a custom hand gun?"

"Yes, yes. Thank you." John's brain flew at the speed of light. He'd tried to plan out what he was going to say but of course he was fumbling now. "Yeah, I'm…" He chuckled lightly. "I need it for a job."

"And what job might that be Johnny boy?"

John felt his insides freeze in an instant. The Irish voice coming from the hallway made him nearly vomit. _Oh GOD._

Moriarty stepped into the room, looking for all the world like he had won the biggest prize at the carnival. His reptilian smile curled onto his face, showing just the right amount of teeth to be completely terrifying. No this was wrong. He was supposed to be set up with Moriarty's people. He was supposed to get at Moran. _He wasn't supposed to have gotten caught._

The other man took two more steps forward and John forced his body to stay still. He could feel his knife in his jacket pocket and the small gun strapped to his back.

"You're really him?" John asked stupidly.

"Oh you don't recognize me?" Moriarty frowned a little. "I suppose it has been a long time since we last saw each other. I have missed you."

"Where's Moran?" John asked hotly. This was wrong. So wrong. He fought back panic. Had Mycroft known?

"Oh Sebby?" Moriarty asked slyly. "He's on his way to Baker Street."

"Fuck."

"Please, Johnny. Did you really think we didn't suspect something was up with your 'death'?" Moriarty laughed. "The morning after we threaten your daughter you get into a car with Mycroft and the day after that you just happen to come across mugging that was actually a sham? I'm surprised poor little Sherly didn't see right through it, though he has been so tremendously boring since that baby entered your household. You should see him now, pining away. He's miserable. And that little girl of yours, she is a cutie."

John felt bile rise in his stomach. "Why not just kill me earlier, if you knew I was following you? I've killed two of your operatives."

"Yeess, those dispensable men. That's what helped us find you." The other man shifted on his feet and slid his hands into his pockets. John tensed, prepared for anything. "Mycroft may be good at starting things, but he tends to get sloppy when it's an election year."

John closed his eyes hard and shook his head. Surely there would be snipers watching. He tensed his body, running through the steps in his head.

"What are we to do now, dear doctor?" Moriarty asked slyly taking another step closer.

That was all John needed. He leapt at the psychopath, aiming low. They crashed to the floor just as John heard glass breaking and bullets hitting the wall near him. John flipped out his knife and drug it across Moriarty's throat. The psychopath smiled brightly, red blossoming from the gash in his throat, eyes wide until they lost their light.

_Oh God._

_It was too easy. There had to be something else._

The blind man stood. "What's happened? James?" Before he could think, John pulled out his gun and sent a bullet through the man's head.

_No that wasn't supposed to happen either._

Three men burst into the room. John, still running high on adrenaline, shot them all between the eyes before they have their guns fully drawn. The world turned silent. He's sure people had heard. They'd be calling the police. He'd be taken to prison. Maybe even killed. He didn't know the Chinese justice system.

_God. Too many dead._

Knowing the snipers would still be watching, John crawled to the back door. He started sprinting as soon as he was out of the room. He shed his jacket and his jumper. Somehow he managed to get his dark khaki trousers off while he was running. Finally he threw off the glasses and was down to plaid shorts and a polo. He was glad he had planned ahead and dressed in extra layers in case something went horribly wrong – _like it just had fuck_ – so he could disguise himself. He found a fire alarm and pulled it using his shirt to cover his hands so he wouldn't leave any fingerprints. He flew down the stairs, alarm screaming in his ears, and searched for a back exit. He slid through the door and found a group of people to file into. He grabbed his phone and dialed the number Mycroft had most recently texted with.

"John," Mycroft's voice was nearly annoyed. "We discussed this. You weren't supposed to call any of these numbers."

" _Shut up!_ " John hissed . He tried to act calm. He was supposed to be in this crowd. Nothing wrong here. "Something has fallen through. I need to get home _now._ "

The phone was silent for a moment. John had reached the main road and inched his way away from the crowd. He hailed a cab. "How do you mean?" Mycroft asked at length.

"I mean I just left a room full of dead people who shouldn't be dead." John got in the cab and showed the driver the address to the hotel. Much easier than speaking.

Mycroft was silent again.

"Jim was there. In the room, Jesus, he was in the room. He – fuck – said Moran was headed to – to Baker Street. Mycroft. There were snipers and the blind German and, Christ what else was I supposed to do?" His voice went up nearly an octave as panic finally flooded him. His heart was beating so hard it hurt. His head was spinning. Oh God he was going to puke.

"Calm down, John." Mycroft said slowly, though John could hear an edge to his voice. "I'll have someone at your hotel room in fifteen minutes. We'll get you out."

John nodded, not even registering that Mycroft couldn't see the movement. He was breathing too hard to answer in any case.

XXX

Lana trailed slightly behind him as they arrived home from their haircuts. Her dark brown hair was just below her shoulders now and Sherlock's was back to a manageable length. Lana still wasn't the bouncy girl he was used to seeing, so she still didn't feel well, but she had kept her ginger tea and toast down which was a good sign. He opened the door to the flat and Lana trotted inside and up the stairs. Sherlock paused when he saw the door to Mrs Hudson's flat ajar. It was only Saturday. He walked silently over the black door. The note was gone. His phone rang, Mycroft.

Lana screamed.

Sherlock shoved his phone back into his jacket and sprinted up the stairs, taking them thee at a time. He burst through the door and saw his little girl held tightly in the lap of a muscular blonde man. His hair was longer but Sherlock could still see the military cut. Murderous fire burned in his blue eyes and he had a scar down the left side of his face from some kind of animal attack years ago. One hand covered Lana's mouth; the other held a gun to her head.

"Morning." The man said.


	10. Chapter 10

John paced feverishly in the cabin of the small private jet. He'd been flying for about 6 hours and, Mycroft promised, would be landing in London in about 2. He could hardly keep still. He had killed James Moriarty. He had fucking killed James bloody Moriarty. And now Sebastian Moran was at his flat about to kill his family. A fire burned in his chest. If only this jet could move faster. Then Sherlock and Lana would be safe. He needed them to be safe. Otherwise this would have all been for nothing. He would have betrayed the trust of the only man he loved and probably scarred his daughter for life.

With a frustrated cry, John threw himself down into a seat. It would take too long to get from the airport back to Baker Street. He would be too late to save them. He was already too late, he could feel it.

XXX

Sherlock willed himself to stay calm, to keep his breath even, to keep his thoughts centered. Lana was watching him, bright blue eyes pleading and tear-filled.

"What do you want?" Sherlock growled.

The man's nose twitched and a murderous glare broke out over his face. "Your soldier boy took something of mine. I'm just giving him what he deserves."

"What?"

The man laughed, the sound full of mirth. "Yeah, your Johnny? He's alive. Faked his death." 

Everything about Sherlock froze. He saw nothing, felt nothing. There was nothing but those words echoing in his brain.

The blonde took in a shaky breath and shifted his grip on his gun. "And then he went and …"

"Who the hell are you?" Sherlock demanded, a blind fury rising in him. Surely this man was lying. He'd buried John, the dental records had matched. He had seen the man fall to the ground.

"Sebastian Moran. Pleasure's all mine." He cocked his gun, eyes blazing, lips twisted in a cruel sneer.

"No please stop!" He shouted, unconsciously taking a step forward. His hand stretched out toward them, fear making his blood turn to ice. "God please no, not Lana."

Moran paused, an odd expression on his face. "Are you expecting me to show you mercy?"

"The child, please, just the child." Sherlock made a conscious effort to keep his voice even. "Take me instead."

After a moment's hesitation, Moran released Lana. The little girl ran as fast as she could away from the man. Sherlock dropped to his knees and crushed her to him, relief flooding him. His baby was safe. It didn't matter if he took her place. John was alive, yes he believed this stranger, somehow. He would to keep them safe, he had to.

Moran rose to his feet and glanced away. Sherlock kept his eyes on the other man and carefully pulled out his phone. He pressed it into Lana's jacket pocket. "Be careful, darling." He whispered to her in German. "You know what to do when there's trouble." Sherlock silently prayed that this Moran character didn't speak any German. He was silently pleased that he had taught Lana.

"Ja, Papa." Lana responded quietly. She was afraid, but they had run through this procedure so many times, Sherlock was sure she could do it. He might not make it out alive today, but he needed to make sure his baby girl did.

"Good girl," Sherlock said in his most comforting tone, back in English. He ran a hand over her dark hair and pushed back his fear and his sorrow. "Now go downstairs into Mrs Hudson's flat. Your favourite show is starting soon." Lana nodded and he kissed her forehead. He hugged her to him once more. "I love you so much, sweetheart."

"I love you, too, Papa." The little girl said quietly. Sherlock pushed he gently toward the door.

Sherlock turned back to the intruder as he heard Lana's steps on the stairs. Moran watched him with a strange look. "You really have changed."

"Sorry?" Sherlock's heart began to pound. If this man was going to kill him, he wanted it done quickly.

"Boss had said, you'd turned soft. Well, boring is what he used." Moran glanced over his gun.

"Boss …? Oh!" A few things clicked in Sherlock's brain. "You're Moriarty's sniper. The man who gets his hands dirty."

"I was!" Moran snapped, throwing his hands to his sides, eyes blazing with murderous rage. "Now I'm just a gun for hire again."

Sherlock paused. "John killed Moriarty?"

"He sure fucking did." Moran growled. "And now I need to take something of his. 'S only fair. You'll do I s'pose, though the kid would probably have stung a little more." A hysterical giggle bubbled out of the man. "Though who's to say I can't kill her after I've finished with you? Take everything away from the soldier doctor."

Rage began to burn white hot in Sherlock's veins. "Leave her out of this! She's just a child!"

"Please," Moran scoffed. "Those sentiments are for the movies, you arse. This is real life and sure as fucking hell ain't fair."

Sherlock took three steps toward the man. Moran raised his gun and Sherlock's chest bumped into it. "Have you no mercy?" He could hear sirens in the distance, and though it could be for anyone in the city, it sent a thrill of hope through his spine. Perhaps if he stalled just a little longer.

"None." Moran growled, eyes aflame again. "Boss made sure to burn that out of me as soon as I was hired."

The next moment happened too fast for even Sherlock's brain to comprehend. It was all instinct, something he was very much not used to. Sherlock's hand came up and just barely managed to push the gun off of his chest before it was fired. He grabbed Moran's wrist and twisted and yanked until he heard the other man cry out and a sick snapping of bone. The gun fell to the floor. Their bodies twisted and slammed together. Sherlock attempted to get a hold of Moran but suddenly there was a flash of a blade and then a hot blinding pain in his abdomen. He cursed aloud and collapsed himself on top of Moran. Maybe he could just get him pinned, keep him here until the Met showed. He knew Lestrade would make Lana's call a priority. If she had even managed to call.

Moran struggled under him, spitting curses. It seemed their fall to the floor had turned his blade against him. The world grew cold and black. Sherlock didn't fight to stay above the fuzzy silence that was dragging him down, down.

A man came flying up the stairs. There was a high pitched screaming. There were hands on him, he was being moved. He tried to speak, to tell the hands to leave him here because the blackness was blissful and please just finally let him rest, but what came out was something different all together.

" _John_ ,"

And then there was nothing.

XXX

John sat hands over his mouth, eyes raw. He felt like he was going to start crying again, but he'd run out of tears about half an hour ago. The slow steady beeping of the heart monitor was driving him mad but kept his hope alive at the same time. Darkness had fallen over London about two hours ago and John had been awake for nearly twenty-two hours. He was exhausted but there was no way he was going to leave Sherlock's side. Not now, not ever again.

The guilt that hung over him as he watched Sherlock lay, looking crumpled and defeated and dead, was over powering. This was his fault. If he hadn't left he could have protected Sherlock. If he'd have been more careful while he was away, if he could have somehow listened closer, looked at clues closer, he might've been able to prevent this.

But here he was, in the hospital, back in London. To be completely fair, Moriarty was dead and Moran was being held somewhere as well. It should have been a victory but, for John, this price was far too high.

The beeping of the heart monitor sped up and there was a breath from Sherlock before he shifted. John's heart leapt with happiness and dread. He hadn't even planned out what he was going to say to Sherlock.

Sherlock's eyes fluttered open. He squinted against the harsh hospital lights and looked around in an almost drunken way. He froze when his eyes hit John.

"Hey," John whispered to him, offering a small, apologetic smile.

"You…" Sherlock seemed disbelieving. The heart monitor pumped out an erratic rhythm. "You're alive." John started to speak, but Sherlock's expression turned livid. "You're alive."

"Yes, Sherlock and so are you." John answered quietly.

" _Fuck. You. John. Hamish. Watson._ " The detective spat.

John tried not to let Sherlock's use of the expletive phase him, nor the horrendous insult – which he wholly deserved – get his spirit down. He didn't attempt to say more. Might as well let Sherlock get it all out now.

"I watched you die, you bastard." Sherlock continued, eyes blazing with a fury John had only ever seen turned on those who had hurt the one's Sherlock loved. "I had to identify a mangled corpse and believe it was you. How the hell did you manage that anyway? The dental records matched, John. The dental records! You left me alone with a baby. How the hell could you do that? You know I can barely keep myself alive. How could you?" Sherlock's voice broke and he looked away before rubbing angrily at his eyes. "How could you?"

John hadn't been expecting anything quite that emotional from the detective. The morphine must be affecting his thoughts. "Sherlock, I'm really sorry." The other man scoffed bitterly. "Really! You don't know how sorry I am. And disgusted with myself. It seemed like the only way I could keep you out of danger and make sure Lana was safe."

Sherlock turned a murderous glare on him. "Please."

"Hey! You were about to do the same thing from what I can remember!" John shot back, resentment rearing its ugly head. "How the hell is this any different?"

Sherlock slammed his eyes closed and put his fingertips to his temples. "I wasn't going to fake my death, you fucking berk. Where did you even get that idiotic idea from?" His eyes snapped open and then to the door way. John hadn't thought it possible, but Sherlock's expression turned even more homicidal. "YOU!"

John turned to see Mycroft standing in the door way, looking serene and unattached as he held a tear-stained Lana on his hip. She shied away from Sherlock's bellow.

"This was all your doing, you son of a mother fucking bitch!" Sherlock shouted.

"Such language in front of a child, dear brother." Mycroft tutted. John winced, knowing that was the absolute worst thing to say.

Sherlock let loose a feral scream and launched himself from the bed and at Mycroft. Mycroft let out a surprised cry as Sherlock's fist connected with his jaw. Lana screamed. John leapt between the brothers, pushing them apart, Sherlock still hurling insults. The morphine had left Sherlock clumsy and he teetered backwards, but John caught him and held him back from attacking his brother again.

"I hate you!" Sherlock said to no one in particular. "I hate all of you."

"All right, yes we know." John said soothingly. He reached over to Sherlock's IV and let more pain killers into the drip. "C'mon, you've been stabbed. Get back into bed before your stitches pop out, love."

"Don't you dare talk to me like that, John Watson." Sherlock slurred, finally slumping against John's grip. "I hate you. I do."

"I know." John said, rubbing circles into Sherlock's back and taking in a shaky breath. Christ it felt good to have this man pressed against him again. "I hate me, too, Sherlock." He helped the detective get back in the hospital bed. "Can I check your stitches?" He asked quietly.

Sherlock only nodded, looking on the verge of tears.

John pulled up the hospital gown to see the stitches were still in place, though the skin around them was an angry red from the outburst. He looked over the rest of Sherlock as well, making sure he was comfortable as possible.

"Daddy?" A small voice came from the door way. John turned and looked at his daughter for real. She was nervous, her small hand at her mouth and the other arm clutching tightly around Mycroft's neck. Her eyes were as big as dinner plates but they held a flicker of hope. John felt his throat close up and his eyes stung.

"Oh, my Lana. Baby girl." He took a step toward her, but Sherlock caught his sleeve.

"No! John! Please don't leave. Not again." He mumbled, only half conscious. "Please."

"All right," John muttered. He sat down in his chair again and slid his hand into Sherlock's. He shifted to look back at his daughter and held out his other arm. "Come here, love."

Lana slid out of Mycroft's grasp and stepped toward her father, head bent forward nervously. John scooped her up as soon as she was close enough and crushed her to him. "Oh, God, I've missed you." He mumbled into her hair, voice cracking. After a few heart beats, Lana began to hug him back.

"I missed you, too, Daddy." She said. "Will Papa be okay?"

John leaned back and ran a hand over her hair, tears spilling from his eyes. "Yeah, he should be, yeah. Gosh, you've gotten big."

Lana put her hands on John's face, wiping the tears from his cheeks. "Why do you look different, Daddy?"

"So the bad men couldn't find me." He told her seriously. John imagined he looked like shit. He hadn't even looked in a mirror since he'd landed about six hours ago, hadn't showered or shaved or even calmed his hair.

Lana's brow furrowed. "Will that bad man come back?" She asked. "He had a gun."

"No." John growled, anger twisting in his gut. "I won't let him. I promise you. And I'm never leaving. Ever again."

The baby nodded, satisfied for now. She leaned back into him. "I told you Daddy would come back, Papa. I just didi't know when."

John laughed weakly, squeezing Sherlock's hand and hugging Lana tightly to him again. He closed his eyes and began rocking gently, more to comfort himself than anyone else.

Mycroft left them without a word.

XXX

"Careful!" Sherlock spat. He had his arm tight around John's neck. John was helping him up the stairs and back into 221b.

"Yes, all right. Sorry." John mumbled, shifting his grip on Sherlock's torso.

"Schneller, Papa!" Lana called from the top of the stairs. She was positively bouncing with excitement. "Schneller!"

"Ja, Geduld, bitte." Sherlock answered, breath coming painfully.

It had been a week and the doctors had finally let Sherlock come home. John was finally starting to look his old self again, though his hair was growing out awkwardly. He thought about just shaving it all off and starting fresh. He was beyond ecstatic to be home with Lana once more. He hadn't realized how much he had missed her. She had become more articulate while he had been away. And more confident and infinitely sassier. Sherlock must've rubbed off on her. Lana, it seemed, had forgiven John whole heartedly for disappearing and sending her world into chaos. She climbed all over him when he sat on the couch and constantly begged for his attention, which he lavished on her as much as possible.

Sherlock was a different story altogether. The man was distant and cranky when John had visited him in the hospital. One time when John was coming back to Sherlock's room after getting coffee, he saw Sherlock and Lana giggling together on Sherlock's hospital bed through the window. They had looked so happy. John had paused and watched them wistfully until Sherlock glanced up and his happy expression fell away almost immediately, replaced with an uncomfortable hesitant one. John's heart had fallen and he nodded awkwardly, pursed his lips and had headed back to the cafeteria.

In all honesty, John was very afraid Sherlock would never fully forgive him or fully trust him again. He beat himself up about that every waking moment of the day. He still hated himself for being convinced to leave his family the way he did.

The two of them topped the stairs and Lana squeaked in delight. She ran up to Sherlock and slammed into his body. "Papa!"

Sherlock let out a pained groan and John pulled Lana off of the taller man. "Hey now!" He said sternly. "What did I say? Be careful with your Papa. He's still in pain, love."

Lana ducked her head forward and looked up at Sherlock through her eyelashes, bottom lip pushed out only slightly. "Es tut mir leid, Papa."

Sherlock's face was still contorted in pain but he managed to say, "Es ist okay, aber vergiss es das nächste Mal nicht."

John's grip tightened on Sherlock's shoulder. He felt a twinge of jealously. Sure Lana and Sherlock had spoken German before he left, but they seemed to have grown so much closer through the language. It was something he was very much not a part of, glaringly so. He didn't understand a lick of German and that seemed to be Sherlock and Lana's only form of communication now. He sighed heavily, trying to let the annoyance and feeling of abandonment roll off of him. He deserved this didn't he? "All right. Who's hungry?"

"Me! Daddy!" Lana ran around the living room. "Daddy can we get Udon noodles?" She ran over to John and leaped up expecting to be caught. John caught her with a grunt, glad his reflexes had been honed in his time away. "Please, Daddy, please?"

Sherlock chuckled good-naturedly as he watched them. "She's certainly hyper tonight." He commented lightly.

"Well, both of her fathers are finally home." John replied, stroking Lana's hair. "Like we're a real family again." He smiled warmly at Sherlock.

Sherlock's lips twitched and he looked at the floor. John felt his heart clench. He wanted to throw himself to his knees in front of Sherlock and beg his forgiveness. He figured it was the least he could do. But he was much too proud for that and Sherlock would hate the act itself, so he refrained, but just barely.

John smiled back at Lana. "Yes, love. Udon sounds lovely." He glanced at Sherlock. "Think you can make it to the couch on your own?"

"Yes." Sherlock snapped, keeping his eyes away from John. "I would've had to if your adventures abroad had gotten you killed." The detective grunted and hobbled his way to the couch.

John stifled a gasp. "I know I've told you hundreds of times, but I really am sorry, Sherlock. So bloody sorry."

"Yes, thank you John." Sherlock hissed as he lowered himself on the couch. "Please do repeat yourself again. That will fix everything." He took out his phone and started scrolling through a news app.

Anger roiled up inside of John. He put Lana down gently and told her to go ask Mrs Hudson for some honey for the tea. He waited until she was out of earshot before he rounded on Sherlock. "Hey, fuck you. I'm trying really hard to be good to Lana and to you." He took a step closer to the couch, trying to catch Sherlock's gaze, but the detective's eyes were glued to the small screen in front of him. "I know I fucked up in a bad, bad way." John continued, trying to keep the pleading edge out of his voice. "I know it's not going to be easy for you to forgive me, if you ever will. I wouldn't forgive me. Hell, I don't know if I would have forgiven you if you had left to do the same thing. But please, can we be civil for Lana?"

The bridge of Sherlock's nose twitched and his lips set themselves in a defiant manner, the only signs that he had heard John, but he didn't reply. John's shoulders drooped and he scrubbed his hands over his face in defeat. "Okay," He said quietly, turning toward the sound of Lana's footsteps on the stairs. "Yeah, I know I should have expected this. If it counts for anything, I still love you, Sherlock. So much it hurts."

John took Lana into the kitchen and helped her put the honey away and together they ordered dinner.

XXX

Sherlock listened as John paced in the living room. He had been contemplating on letting John sleep on the couch, but the bed smelled of John again. He must've been sleeping here while Sherlock had been in the hospital. As much as he hated to admit it now, John's scent was nearly driving him mad. It made the cold spans of the queen size mattress near unbearable. Slowly, gently, he pushed himself to his feet. He pulled on his blue dressing gown and hobbled into the living room. Time to get this over with.

"I'm surprised your time away didn't make you lighter on your feet."

John started and whirled to face him. "Christ, Sherlock. Sorry. I'll try and be quieter." He started moving to the couch; face slightly flush, bags under his eyes more pronounced, tired lines deeper than he'd seen them before. Sherlock's eyes twitched as he realized just how hard John was taking everything.

"Are you coming to bed or not?" Sherlock asked quietly. He stared at the floor, refusing to let John see the surrender in his eyes.

It took John a moment to react. "Are … are you sure?"

"Hurry up before I change my mind." Sherlock hissed as he tried to sweep his way back to the bedroom. He wasn't going to change his mind, but he didn't want John to know. Sherlock's newest scar tissue twanged at his attempted flourish and he clutched his stomach. Bloody hell.

John's hands were on him in an instant. "You okay? Did you take your medication?"

"Yes, yes." Sherlock mumbled, pushing John's hands away, trying to look as though he recoiled at the stark concern in John's tired voice.

"Sorry," John whispered as they started moving toward the bedroom again.

"I told you to stop apologising, you twat." Sherlock snapped. "You know how much I hate repetition."

"Yeah, tedious, I know. Sorraaaghh." John bit his lip in an effort to keep the dreaded word escape again.

John's hands fluttered around Sherlock as he lowered himself into bed, hissing at the discomfort in his abdomen. "I'm fine. Just get into bed."

John did so in silence, which Sherlock was grateful for. The feeling of John's warm body next to him was nearly sinful. God how he'd missed it. The world seemed to be shifting back to its normal self, like things were beginning to clear after a thunderstorm.

"You left me alone." Sherlock said to the darkened room. He felt tension slam into John's body. "You left me in charge of such a fragile life that I cherish more than I should be allowed to. It's a miracle we made it as long as we did." Sherlock's hands ran through his hair. He hadn't meant to start spilling these words. They were raw, emotional, everything he really did not want to be right now.

"You would have figured it out, eventually." John said softly. John rolled onto his side and Sherlock could feel the hesitation in the other man's arms and hands. John wanted to touch him yet wasn't sure if he was allowed. Sherlock wasn't sure if he wanted to be touched. It would break any kind of resolve he had. "You are Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock tried not to react to the smile he could hear in John's voice.

"Would you really not have forgiven me if I had disappeared?" Sherlock asked tentatively. That thought bothered him somehow, sat wrong in his brain.

"Of course I would've forgiven you." John said instantly. "I would have been very angry at you, but probably not as long as I should have. I can't stay mad at you Sherlock, as surprising a concept as that is."

Something in Sherlock's chest shifted. Honestly, how long could he stay mad at John? John who loved him so purely, so completely. John who gave him companionship he never knew he craved. John who gave him an audience, comfort, and now Lana. John was irreplaceable and precious. He rolled onto his side facing John. "You're an idiot."

John chuckled. "Now who's the one repeating themselves?"

"Shut up." Sherlock reached out his arms and snaked them around John, pulling him close, throwing a leg over John's. He breathed in John's scent, reveling in the sense of home it brought. And oh God how he had missed this warmth in his bed. He pushed back a sob as John's arms wrapped carefully around him. He could feel John's body catch and his shaking breath was hot on Sherlock's neck. It struck Sherlock how much harder John's body felt. He could feel the more sculpted muscle through their thin t-shirts and the thought of seeing John exposed flooded his mind.

"God I missed you so much, Sherlock." John stuttered, voice raw, cutting into Sherlock's brain. "Every night was torture away from you. Every day was hell not being able to see you or Lana. I nearly made myself sick worrying about you two."

"Another reason Mycroft made a poor choice when he took you away." Sherlock told him.

"At least I killed Moriarty and two of his high profile henchmen." John said, nuzzling his face into Sherlock's neck.

Sherlock shuddered before he could control himself and hugged John closer. "Yes. And I'm so proud of you. You've made the world a safer place for us, and I can't resent you for that, no matter how stupid and idiotic the circumstances were." John let out a laugh that sounds more like a sob and a few heart beats later Sherlock could feel wetness on his neck. He ducked his head forward and pressed his lips to John's shoulder. His eyes rolled back involuntarily at the bliss of having John on his lips again. "Don't you ever dare even think about leaving again."

John pushed himself away and cupped his hands on Sherlock's face, pressing their foreheads together. Sherlock felt his breath come short. Oh God, John. "No never. I promise, I swear to you." John told him. "God Sherlock. I will fight tooth and nail to stay by your side. You and Lana. I will never leave you alone again."

Sherlock couldn't help the smile that broke out across his face. He didn't care that he should still be mad; all that mattered was that John was here with him, in his arms, breathing his air. He crushed his lips to John's and it was like a breath of fresh air. John was just as he remembered. Stubble stung his chin, John's marvelous tongue mingled with his own. They tangled together, pulling closer, closer, until Sherlock groaned at the pain in his abdomen. John loosened his grip and contented himself by running his hands through Sherlock's hair and oh it was heavenly.

"Papa? Daddy?" A small voice came from the doorway.

Both men started at the sound and John wrenched his head around. "What is it, darling?" John asked. Sherlock loved how soft John's voice always was when he addressed Lana.

"I had a scary dream again." The little girl confessed. She held her favourite stuffed pink kitten tightly.

John slid out of Sherlock's grasp and held his arms open to his daughter. "Come here, love. You can sleep by us tonight."

Lana padded over and John lifted her up and onto the bed, placing her between himself and Sherlock. Sherlock wrapped an arm around the little girl as he felt warmth fill him to the brim. Everyone he held dear in this little rectangle of comfort. He planted a kiss on the top of Lana's head. "Better now?"

"Yes, Papa." She answered shyly, curling around her kitten.

John kissed Lana's forehead. "It's late. We should all sleep." He tiled his head toward Sherlock and pressed a kiss on the detective's lips.

Sherlock returned the kiss, letting bliss settle over him. He was happy again, so happy. "Yes. Here together, a real family again. Just like you said, John." He felt John smile against his lips and Sherlock settled himself down in contentment as they all drifted to unconsciousness.


End file.
